A Different Pair of Shoes
by Mayle
Summary: A little bit of carelessness can cause a whole lot of trouble. Our boys at Baker Street soon learn that, as one of Sherlock's experiments causes him to grow a cat tail and ears. What a mess he's gotten himself into!
1. Chapter 1

"John!" the panicked scream had John on his feet and down the stairs before the second one sounded louder than the first, "JOHN!"

John's head moved back and forth before he found the screams were coming from the bathroom. He sprinted over and burst through the door to see Sherlock clutching at his head with a freaked look on his face. He turned to John and his eyes went impossibly wider. He frantically pointed at his head.

"Do you see them?!" Sherlock shouted, "Can you see them, John?!"

John stepped forward and squinted to look at Sherlock's head. Atop his head, barely peeking through his curly mop of hair were two giant cat ears. John's jaw dropped down around his knees and he gaped at Sherlock in awe.

"Wh-what is going on?" John demanded, stepping forward again.

The ears twitched on top of Sherlock's head and the man let out a strangled cry.

"I don't know!" he screamed, "I j-just woke up and they were there! And, and this!"

Sherlock turned his back to John revealing a long black cat tail poking out from under his dressing gown. John couldn't resist the urge to reach forward and touch the tail. It twitched away and he jumped back.

"Is this some sort of experiment?" John questioned, trying to keep calm.

"I-I don't think so!" Sherlock answered frantically, "I did do an experiment on felis catus DNA, but I didn't do anything…shit. I must of accidently inhaled something or got something in an open wound and now I'm like this!"

John came forward and wrapped the man in a hug. Sherlock buried his face into John's shoulder. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. _Never dull, _he reminded himself.

* * *

"Dammit, Sherlock!" John shouted, "Just tell your tail what to do! You're in charge!"

"John, I can't control it!" Sherlock snapped, "It just does what it damn well pleases!"

"Sounds like you," John answered.

Sherlock scowled at him over his shoulder. John ran his hand down the tail and it curled around his wrist. He sighed and gently slipped the tail back into Sherlock's pants. The tail struggled for a moment before popping right out again. John smacked his forehead as the tail brushed against him, attempting to curl around his waist. He batted it away and came around to face Sherlock. He placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face.

"Reach into your mind, Sherlock," John commanded, "Somewhere in there, there is the controls for that bloody tail. Find it and use it."

Sherlock frowned at him but closed his eyes. His eyelids moved as his eyes zipped back and forth under them. He twitched several times and his leg started vibrating at one point. Finally he went still. His tail flicked back and forth behind him.

"I've got it," he said quietly, his eyes still closed.

"Good, now have it curl around your leg," John instructed, "Inside your pants. That way no one will see it."

The tail bounced for a bit more and then disappeared from view. John relaxed and dropped his hands from Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes opened and he sighed with relief.

"Now can we go?" Sherlock pleaded.

"Wait," John said.

He leaned back to look up at the hat on Sherlock's head. He could see where the ears pressed against the hat, but no one else would be able to tell.

"Do I really have to wear _this _hat?" Sherlock questioned for the millionth time.

"We've been through this, Sherlock," John answered, tiredly, "It's the only one that covers your ears and it's the one that hurts them the least. So deal with it."

"But a newsboy hat?" Sherlock whined, "I look all Cockney or something.

The hat was rather baggy, falling to his other ears and it did look totally ridiculous, but it was the only one that worked.

"Would you rather the deerstalker?" John questioned.

"No," Sherlock huffed in defeat.

"Maybe you should go with the accent too," John remarked, "Don' you fink dad be convincin'?"

"Piss off, John," Sherlock snapped, starting towards the door.

"Oi! You piss off, wanka!" John shouted as he followed Sherlock down the stairs, "Vera bovered are ya?"

"John, please do not make me endure this," Sherlock begged him as they waited by the curb for a cab.

John quieted and left it alone. For a while.

"So fora recard, you was bovered?" John spouted off halfway to their destination.

The rest of the cab ride was spent with John belting out cockney and laughing while Sherlock groaned and grumbled next to him. By the time they arrived, John was in quite a good mood and Sherlock was in a very irritable one.

"What have you got?" Sherlock snapped at Lestrade.

Lestrade started spouting off facts and Sherlock listened. John looked around to see if Andersen was there. He spotted him a bit off. _Oh, crap. He's looking. Crap, now we've made eye contact. Now Andersen's headed this way. F word, f word, f word!_ Andersen drew to a stop next to John and sneered at the doctor, who scowled back at him.

"Taking the freak out for a walk, Dr. Watson?" Andersen drawled.

Sherlock spun around and hissed at Andersen. Not a simple sssing noise, no. he hissed like a cat who was about to claw the shit out of someone. Thinking quickly John leapt forward and dragged Sherlock away from the crime scene. Once they were out of sight, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who stiffened at the touch. John noted the angry noises coming from Sherlock and tried to remember how to calm down a cat. He remembered owning a black cat once; Sherlock actually resembled it a bit. He pushed that from his mind and went back to the matter at paw, ahem, I mean hand.

John's hand rubbed at Sherlock's lower back trying to find that place that cats love so much. Sherlock suddenly went limp in his arms and purred, the sound coming from deep inside his chest. His back arched against John's hand and he snuggled his face into John's shoulder. John smiled in triumph as the purrs echoed into his own chest.

"There you go, you're ok," John said softly.

"Shut up, I'm not a cat," Sherlock snapped, though it was lazy and half-hearted.

"You sure are starting to act like one," John answered, "Hmm. Actually, now that I think about it. You've always been cat like. Nimble, anti-social, clingy to usually only one person, whiney, annoying, easily pissed off, bright eyes-."

"Yeah, yeah, I get the point," Sherlock interrupted, "Just keep doing that. It feels fucking amazing."

John jumped slightly at the curse word. Sherlock had been cursing way more than normal since he'd gotten his ears and tail, but it always surprised John to hear something so crude come from such a pretty mouth. Sherlock cleared his throat slightly and coughed.

"What's wrong?" John questioned.

"This damn purring won't stop!" Sherlock sputtered.

"Don't fight it, Sherlock," John instructed, "You can't fight who you are and now you're part cat, so just give into the instincts, ok?"

"If you say so…" Sherlock answered his purring intensifying.

John tried to breathe normal as Sherlock's chest vibrated against his, but it was incredibly difficult. Then he felt something hot, wet, and rough on his jaw. He turned to look at Sherlock, whose tongue was hanging out incriminatingly. He slurped his tongue back in and looked at John sheepishly.

"Sorry, it just kinda happened," Sherlock muttered.

"It's ok," John assured him, "Lots of cats lick their masters."

Sherlock jumped away from John and stormed away.

"You are not my master!" he threw over his shoulder, "I'm not even a cat!"

John rolled his eyes.

"Stubborn arse," he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was lying on the couch, eyes closed and breathing deeply. His ears (the large cat ones) twitched occasionally as John looked down at him. His tail was curled up, resting on his side. John could hardly stop himself from reaching down and scratching Sherlock between his twitching ears. Immediately the detective was sitting straight up, pressing into John's fingers and purring like mad. His tail also sprang to life and he made a loud meowing sound. John chuckled slightly and scratched at Sherlock's left ear. The ear bent slightly and so did Sherlock's head and the meowing persisted.

"You're so cute," John mused.

A hissing noise escaped Sherlock's mouth and he jerked away from John, curling up in the corner of the sofa. Sherlock glared at him with those huge green-blue eyes. John smiled softly and sat down next to him. He opened his arms in the universal "Come into my arms" signal. Sherlock just hissed and looked away.

"Oh, come on; don't be like that," John pleaded, "I won't call you cute any more if that makes you feel better. I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you. I'm just trying to be helpful."

Sherlock let out some sort of guttural growling sound and cast himself into John's lap. He curled up, mostly on John, only his feet and ankles hung off of John's legs. John reached down and petted Sherlock's side. Sherlock purred at him and snuggled back against John's stomach. His tail flicked about and curled around John's arm. John chuckled and kept on petting his side. Sherlock meowed his mouth opening around the o sound. John could hardly contain his delight.

"I'm sorry! You're just too adorable!" John burst.

"No, I'm not!" Sherlock whined, "I'm manly."

But is voice was half-hearted and quiet. John smiled down at him softly as Sherlock carried on his purring and meowing. Soon he felt asleep. Leaving John stuck underneath a hundred and fifty pound consulting detective. He slowly toed off his shoes and gently moved Sherlock and himself until he was lying on his side with Sherlock curled against him. He laid an arm across Sherlock and fell asleep to the soft sounds of Sherlock's purring.

* * *

Several days after the sentimental moment of sleeping together on the sofa, Sherlock was twitching about nervously. He was pacing about the flat and John was pretty sure one of his legs was vibrating. Occasionally, Sherlock would stop and his body would shake all over, his hands rubbing furiously at his head.

As Sherlock passed John caught a whiff of something coming off of Sherlock. It came off in waves and had John sniffing the air trying to figure out what the smell was. Because man, it smelled, soo _delicious_. Sherlock would occasionally look at John and a noise would erupt from low in his throat. But he would jerk his head away and start pacing again. John tried to ignore Sherlock, but wow, he smelled good!

"John!" Sherlock groaned.

John's eyes snapped up from his book. Sherlock was close to him, standing over him. His hands were shakily holding the edges of the arms of the chair. The smell came off in in waves like a hot stove. It was practically _mouthwatering_. Sherlock's face was twisted in a look of pain and torture. John valiantly tried to ignore the smell.

"Wh-what's wrong, Sherlock?" John questioned shakily.

"J-John," Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, "I'm…I'm in…Jesus fuck, Sherlock, just bloody fucking say it already!"

John jumped slightly at the outburst. Sherlock took calming breaths above him.

"I'm in heat," Sherlock mumbled.

John blinked owlishly up at him.

"I'm sorry, what?" John questioned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shakily sat on one of John's knees. John's eyebrows came together in confusion.

"Please don't act stupid," Sherlock muttered, "You know what heat is."

Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut and he rocked back and forth on John's knee.

"Wh-what are you doing?" John questioned weakly.

"I just said I'm in heat!" Sherlock snapped.

"B-but, how? You're male!" John insisted, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent and the way Sherlock was riding his leg.

"The cat DNA that got fused with mine was female," Sherlock answered, in a distant, disinterested voice, "My body apparently thinks I must conceive a litter of kittens. NOW."

John jumped at the emphasized word.

"B-but you can't conceive a litter of kittens!" John protested.

"Obviously not," Sherlock murmured in an irritated voice, "But my hormones seem to think that I can."

John watched as Sherlock rocked his ass against his leg. The scent was making his eyes and mouth water.

"That explains why you smell so damn good," John groaned.

"Do I?" Sherlock asked, his eyes popping open in curiosity, "What do I smell like?"

"No idea," John answered, "But it smells delicious."

"Does it make you want to fuck me?" Sherlock questioned, his head cocking to the right.

"Yes, obviously," John muttered, "Isn't that the point?"

"Yes," Sherlock admitted, "So why aren't you doing it?"

John paused to rub his fingers against his temples in an effort to clear his mind. It wasn't easy, considering Sherlock hadn't stopped his rocking against John's leg.

"Because you're my friend," John answered finally.

"So it's not because I'm a guy?" Sherlock pressed.

"No! Jesus, Sherlock," John sputtered frantically, "Please stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"Rubbing on my leg like that!" John grumbled.

He closed his eyes and pressed his palms into them.

"Oh," Sherlock stated, sliding off of John's leg.

John was startled by the easy win. He opened his eyes and blinked several times. Sherlock was on his hands and knees in front of him, and his tail was curved up towards his back in universal cat language for "Fuck me now!" John groaned loudly and pressed his palms back into his eyes.

"That's not helping, Sherlock," John mumbled at him.

"I didn't mean to," Sherlock said timidly, "It just sort of happened."

John looked back down at Sherlock, who was looking at him over his shoulder, his eyes wide in innocence and fear. John immediately felt guilty. He slid down to the floor and crawled over to in front of Sherlock. He sat on his knees in front of the scared kitten and placed his hands on either side of his face.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John assured him, "We'll figure this out, ok?"

"What's there to figure out, John?" Sherlock demanded, "Just fuck me!"

John felt a shock go through him. It was half-pleasant and half-torturous.

"I can't do that, Sherlock," John answered.

"Why not?!" Sherlock asked in an urgent manner, "I need it and you find me attractive, so let's just do it!"

John felt something perk up inside of him (no, not that, you perv, I said _inside _him). Something hopeful. Something that loved Sherlock. Something that thought this may just be his chance to have Sherlock, not just physically, but emotionally. John snorted and pushed that hopefulness away. Sherlock was demented by hormones and John just so happened to be the nearest male. That was as simple as it was. And John would not allow himself to stoop that low. He wouldn't be the quick, needy shag. He couldn't do that to his poor, frail heart.

"We'll find you a prostitute," John said finally, though the thought made him want to scream, cry, puke, and kill something.

* * *

**Little note: O.O I have no idea what happened...I was all like "Oh, look at me with this semi-humorous bit about John and Cat Sherlock, I'm so clever!" And then the Slash Gods descended upon me and said "Dude, hook up your readers man. Hook them up with that sexy Sherlock in heat, you know what I mean." And really, how can I refuse the Slash Gods? So, hope you enjoyed it! Love ya all!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was shaking by John's side and making the most pitiful mewling noises John had ever heard. He was clutched to John's arm and his eyes darted about, unable to focus on anything. John tried to keep calm for Sherlock's sake, but it was really hard considering Sherlock was about to go have sex with some random bloke. It didn't make it any easier that more random blokes were walking up and trying to feel up Sherlock. Sherlock hissed any time one of them touched him and John would tell them to get lost.

"You ok, Sherlock?" John questioned, as Sherlock started twitching.

"No!" Sherlock snapped, "What if he sees my tail?"

"Keep the lights off," John answered.

"What if he feels it?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sherlock, it's taped to your back," John assured him, "It'll be fine."

Sherlock let out a yowling noise and John turned back away, his face and crotch heating in anticipation. Sherlock turned slightly and started rubbing his ass against John, making pleading meows as he did so. John tried to think of something else as Sherlock rubbed against him, invitingly. After about a minute it was over with Sherlock making a frustrated hiss/growl noise in his throat.

"Why can't you just do it?" Sherlock whined for the millionth time.

"Dammit, Sherlock! I just can't!" John snapped.

Sherlock made a whimpering noise and John looked back at him. He could see where Sherlock's ears had flattened under his hat and his head was bowed. John sighed and put a hand under Sherlock's chin, lifting it so Sherlock looked at him.

"Do you really think a fumbled shag is what we need?" John mused, "That would just make everything worse. You'd have to see me every day. You'd never get over the embarrassment."

"Why would I be embarrassed that I had sex with you?" Sherlock questioned.

John laughed dryly and turned back away from Sherlock. Sherlock pawed at his shoulder (yes, _pawed) _until he turned back to look at him.

"What?" he asked tiredly.

"Why would I be embarrassed that I had sex with you?" Sherlock repeated firmly.

"Because, Sherlock," John started, anger rising inside him, "You're you, so sexy and beautiful and wonderfully smart. You are perfect in every way and you can do anything. And I'm not. I'm nowhere near that. I'm so far away from that I can't even see it, except when I get to see you. But I've already resigned myself that all I get to do is see it, I don't get to touch, because how could I possibly soil the perfection that you are? I would hate myself for it."

With that John looked away again, jerking his arm out of Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock stumbled slightly, but quickly righted himself. Sherlock didn't say anything for several minutes as John fought back tears.

"Let's go home," Sherlock finally said.

John didn't say anything; he merely stomped towards the door, assuming Sherlock would follow.

* * *

A week later, Sherlock was back to normal. He seemed quite pleased with himself too. John was also pleased: this meant he could finally get some sleep. Sherlock was up all hours of the night yowling out windows at stray cats. John didn't even want to think what would have happened if Sherlock had gotten a hold of one of those cats. His eyes flicked up from his laptop as he thought about it. Sherlock was sitting on the couch staring at something on the coffee table. His ears twitched occasionally, but for the most part he didn't seem all that anxious or irritable. Though, he did look a little angry.

John watched as some internal struggle played across Sherlock's face. His fingers were steepled under his chin as always and he was focusing on something in particular. John noticed he was wearing the silk purple shirt that he loved so much. His tail was waving around behind him, but it didn't seem agitated. John was really starting to wonder what was going on. He looked at the object that Sherlock was focused on. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't help it: he burst out laughing. Sherlock looked up, his concentration breaking in surprise.

"What?" he demanded, "What's so funny?"

John shook his head and rubbed at his tearing eyes, trying to calm himself.

"You're trying to decide whether or not to play with that ball of yarn," John giggled, "Aren't you?"

Sherlock blushed profusely.

"No! Of course not!" Sherlock answered in a near shout, "Wh-what, why would I be doing that?!"

"Oh, Sherlock," John said, wiping at his eyes again, "Just do it."

Something seemed to snap inside Sherlock as he snatched up the ball of yarn, with a strangled meow. John suppressed his laughter, but grinned brightly as Sherlock proceeded to play with the ball of yarn. John watched the look of delight on Sherlock's face as the ball went flying and he scrambled after it.

John tried to go back to what he was doing, but he couldn't. Instead he watched Sherlock roll around with the ball of yarn, getting more and more tangled up in it. John started to see that Sherlock was going to need a savior pretty soon, so he shut down his laptop and put it away. Sure enough, Sherlock let out a strangled yelp a little while later. He tugged at the yarn that now tangled all around him and then looked over at John with wide eyes.

"John, I'm stuck," he said quietly.

John grinned and went over to where Sherlock lay on the floor. He knelt beside him and started untangling Sherlock from the mess. It wasn't an easy feat, as the detective had managed to knot the yarn and have it tangled all the way around him. John sighed as he pulled at the yarn.

"Shall I just get the scissors, Sherlock?" John asked.

"B-but then the ball will be messed up," Sherlock said.

John looked up to see that Sherlock was serious and actually had tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Sherlock," John said, smiling softly, "I can get you another one."

Sherlock brought his hands up with some difficulty and rubbed away the tears.

"Ok, get the scissors," he said in defeat.

John hugged him briefly before jumping up to get the scissors. When he returned, Mycroft was hovering near the door and Sherlock looked like he might actually start bawling. He edged forward and dropped down by Sherlock.

"So…experiment gone wrong?" Mycroft questioned Sherlock.

John kept out of it, deciding to instead start freeing Sherlock from the yarn.

"The ears or the yarn?" Sherlock questioned tiredly.

"Both," Mycroft answered.

"Yes, mostly the ears and tail though," Sherlock admitted, "The yarn just sort of happened."

"I see," Mycroft said in that cold way of his, "Female DNA?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

"Explains why you were where you were last week," Mycroft said, "Be careful, it happens every 1 to 3 weeks."

John's hands clenched as the words were spoken.

"You mean the heat?" he demanded, "That happens every 1 to 3 weeks?"

"Yes, if a cat doesn't mate," Mycroft replied, "She'll go through it every 1 to 3 weeks. Once she's out of season she'll be fine. Unfortunately, though, cats that aren't allowed to mate and don't become pregnant, have heat seasons that are on more than they're off."

There was a long pause while everyone in the room considered what that meant. Then Sherlock spoke up.

"I need to be spayed," he stated firmly.

* * *

**Little note: I did research...I hated what I found. Please, dear lord, spay and neuter your pets. They can get really sick if you don't. Not to mention you have to deal with an obnoxious animal practically all the time. So yeah...anyway, I hope you liked it. Love you all for all your support!**


	4. Chapter 4

John acted on instinct and his hand flew across Sherlock's face.

"Don't be stupid!" John yelled at him, "You cannot get spayed! You're not a cat!"

Sherlock looked up at him wide eyes and whimpered. John immediately felt guilty. He knew it had been his own fear that had caused him to strike out and all it did was hurt Sherlock. Images of scalpels and needles against Sherlock's flesh had caused him to mentally scream and strike out at the closest thing. Sherlock's ears flattened against his head and he made a sad mewling sound.

"No, now don't do that," John pleaded, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

John reached forward and stroked Sherlock's face. Sherlock had tears in his eyes and John felt awful. _Idiot, _he berated himself, _why would you hit such a wonderful little kitten? _Then he had to shake his head for calling Sherlock a kitten. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him onto his lap. Sherlock curled up and snuggled into John's chest. John started counting and when he hit 4 Sherlock started purring.

"Something does need to be done," Mycroft said, making John jump (he'd forgotten the other Holmes was there), "We're going to have to take a look and see what we're dealing with."

Sherlock made another whimpering noise and stiffened against John. John petted his head and rubbed his lower back.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John assured him, "It'll be ok."

Sherlock looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"I'll be there," John added, "The whole time. You won't be alone and I'll make sure no one does anything bad, ok?"

Sherlock visibly relaxed and snuggled back into John's chest. John took that to mean Sherlock was ok with it and looked up at Mycroft who nodded and left. John sighed, feeling rather tired and sick. Sherlock rolled his head and looked at John.

"Can you rub that place again?" Sherlock asked sheepishly.

"Of course, Sherlock," John answered, his fingers moving to find the place, "Just relax. Everything is going to be ok."

Sherlock nodded and buried his face in John's shoulder. Then John located the right place and Sherlock arched his back letting out the most obscene meow yet. John blushed as Sherlock settling back onto his lap and began purring all over again. John hardly even flinched when Sherlock started licking at his jaw. _Just a normal day with Sherlock Holmes, _he thought, angling his head so it would be more comfortable for Sherlock.

* * *

"You can't be in here," the doctor said firmly, "This whole thing is very delicate. We don't know what might happen."

"I'll tell you what will happen if you don't let me in there," John said in an equally firm voice, "That man will be nervous and irritable and then something will go wrong because he can't relax. And then he'll get hurt and then I'll have to kill you for hurting him. Do I make myself clear?"

The doctor swallowed and nodded, moving to the side so John could come forward to sit by Sherlock, who was laying on his side. Sherlock was twitching about where he was laying, his ears and tail going mad. John came around in front of him and sat down on a chair that was conveniently provided. Sherlock sighed as he saw him, his body relaxing.

"It's going to be ok," John assured him, "They just want to see what's going on in there."

"I already know!" Sherlock snapped, "It perfectly simple that my body has grown feline reproductive parts! How else would I go into heat?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few calming breaths.

"I know that you know," John answered, "But they need to make sure. Not to mention they need to know where everything is at so they can remove it."

Sherlock visibly paled and his ears turned in a way that John hadn't seen before.

"It's ok, everything is going to be ok," John said, "I promise. I'll be here the whole way and you'll never have to worry. I'll do the worrying for you, ok?"

Sherlock nodded and his ears relaxed. John took that to be a good sign. The doctor came in and started talking, but John hardly listened and he could tell that Sherlock wasn't listening either. John reached forward and took one of his hands and squeezed it. Sherlock smiled slightly and relaxed even further, keeping his eyes on John.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you're in quite the predicament," the doctor said in an amused voice.

Sherlock hissed at him and clutched harder to John's arm.

"Doc, could you please just tell us what's going on?" John asked in his most patient voice.

"Your body has grown fallopian tubes and ovaries out of your rectum," the doctor stated coolly, "Turning your rectum into a uterus. However, your rectum still serves its normal purpose, so actual insemination and pregnancy would be impossible."

John was pretty relieved at that, but Sherlock didn't seem any less tense.

"Can you get rid of it?" Sherlock pressed, hissing noises escaping around the words.

"Yes, I believe we can," the doctor answered, "Though it will be a painful recovery."

That's when Sherlock relaxed, the hissing noises fading away. He laid his head on John's shoulder and sighed.

"That's fine," John spoke up, "We can deal with pain, can't we Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, eagerly agreeing with John.

"Well, then we'll see you in a few days," the doctor said, getting up and heading to the door.

John felt like laughing with relief that everything would be fine. He stood up, taking Sherlock with him, as he refused to let go of John. As they made their way out of the building, John suddenly realized how much Sherlock had shown his emotions since the whole cat ordeal had started. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

* * *

"How long will you stay?" Sherlock whispered.

John looked down at the detective who was currently fighting against the drugs that they gave him to fall asleep. His eyes locked with John's and John knew it wasn't just about the surgery. Sherlock was really asking John how long he was stay with him at Baker Street. John considered making a joke to try to lighten up the mood, but he knew that wasn't what Sherlock wanted or needed. His heart was breaking in his chest as the man waited patiently for his answer.

What could John really promise Sherlock? He knew how many times he'd felt like just leaving, but did that mean that someday he finally would? He knew what the absolute truth was and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that that was what Sherlock wanted and needed to hear. But John wondered if he was strong enough to say it. He looked away for a moment at the doctors and nurses bustling about and took a deep breath. He looked back at Sherlock.

"Forever," he answered firmly.

* * *

**Little note: O.O I hope you guys liked it...No details on the surgery because I just cannot do any more research on the matter. X.x It's killin' me. But, good news is, Sherlock will be happy and heat-free! Yay! Love you all!**


	5. Chapter 5

"John!" Sherlock moaned into his pillow, "It fucking hurts!"

"They took something out of you," John answered, "Obviously it's going to hurt. And watch your mouth."

"Fuck off," Sherlock groaned.

John stood and turned to leave but a thin hand stopped him. He looked down to see Sherlock looking rather sheepish.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking anywhere but John.

"It's ok," John assured him, sitting back down, "seriously, do you need some pain medicine? They said to let them know if the pain was too much."

"No more drugs," Sherlock muttered.

John felt a shock go through him. He hadn't even thought about what the drugs might do to Sherlock emotionally or mentally. John looked at the detective who'd closed his eyes again. His face was contorted in pain, but his body seemed fairly relaxed for someone who'd just had body parts removed. John's eyes travelled to Sherlock's lower back where the stitched up flesh was exposed. During the surgery, John had tried to not look as they cut Sherlock open, but he had looked. He had seen it and he was sure he would never allow it again unless it was necessary. It shook him to the core to see his beloved detective cut open like a cat in a biology class. John had almost screamed, but he managed to silently remind himself that it was all necessary.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock's voice called to him from his thoughts.

John looked up to see Sherlock squinting at him.

"Honestly, I was thinking about you," John answered.

"Good or bad thinking?" Sherlock questioned.

"Hmm," John hummed as he considered the question, "I don't know really. I was just thinking that I didn't like seeing you cut up like that."

"Because you think I'm perfect," Sherlock stated more than asked.

"I suppose so," John replied quietly.

"I'm not though," Sherlock mumbled, "I'm arrogant and self-centered. And I used to do drugs. And I was stupid enough to get cat DNA into my own. And I lie all the time. And i can't make tea for shit. I'm not quite sure exactly how to make tea even..."

Sherlock trailed off leaving John to fill the awkward silence.

"Why are you telling me all of these things?" John questioned.

"Shut up and leave me alone," Sherlock groaned, burying his face back in the pillow, "If you don't understand then how can I explain?"

John frowned at the man, trying to make sense of what he'd said.

* * *

"Sherlock! Get down from there!" John shouted.

Sherlock hissed from his purchase on the top shelf of the bookcase.

"Sherlock, dammit!" John shouted, "You're going to rip your stiches open doing that!"

Sherlock hissed at him again, but climbed down the bookcase. John glared at him as he jumped down the last two shelves. Sherlock trotted over and rubbed against John like a cat does when it wants attention. His tail flicked about, curling itself around John's wrist.

"Sherlock, you're bored, aren't you?" John asked in a tired voice.

"A bit," Sherlock said through purrs.

He snuggled his face against John's chest inviting John to pet him. John sighed and relented, lifting his hand to Sherlock's head and petting the man.

"You're getting more and more like a cat as time wears on," John commented.

"I just suppressed it," Sherlock replied, his eyes closed.

"How does your back feel?" John questioned.

"Fine," Sherlock answered curtly, "It's healing or whatever."

"Does it hurt?" John pressed.

"It's sore," Sherlock purred into John's chest, "Now shut up."

John sighed heavily and backed up until he found the sofa. He flopped down and Sherlock curled up on his lap, wincing slightly as his stiches pulled. John resumed petting Sherlock and leaned his head back. He was beginning to wonder what was going to happen to Sherlock. If they could keep everything quiet, he should have no trouble. But what if someone found out and Sherlock was carted off to some crazy science lab to do all sorts of tests? John didn't think they'd allow him to stay with Sherlock if they took him and it scared him to think that Sherlock would have to be alone in some scary lab with scientists prodding at him and doing who knows what.

"Shut up," Sherlock muttered, "You're thinking way too loud. Everything is going to be ok."

"Are you just saying that or do you mean it?" John asked in a hollow voice.

Sherlock opened his eyes and peeked up at John, apparently realizing that John was actually upset about something. He lifted up, his eats suddenly standing straight up.

"Of course I mean it," Sherlock said firmly, "Why wouldn't I mean it?"

"Sherlock…" John paused, trying to push the whining out of his voice, "What if someone finds out about you?"

"I don't know what if," Sherlock answered, "But we'll be ok. We always are. Because I'm me and I'm stupid sometimes, but you're you and you always save me when I get in trouble. That's why I love you."

John sighed and leaned his head back.

"I guess you're right," John muttered, "You're always right."

Sherlock settled back on his lap and John picked up petting him again.

* * *

Days later, John sat straight up in bed, gasping. His eyes and mouth were wide as a realization hit him.

"He said….he said…." John sputtered into his darkened room, "He…he…he said…"

John brought in several deep, shuddering breaths in attempt to calm himself. Then something moved on the bed next to him and he yelped, jerked violently and fell out of his bed. A dark head with giant cat ears on top of it peeked over the edge of the bed at him. John scowled at the detective.

"Are you ok?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"No!" John shouted at him, "What are you doing in my bed?!"

Sherlock's ears flattened against his head and John felt a pang of guilt.

"It was cold…" Sherlock said quietly.

John rubbed at his eyes.

"Well, move over," John said, "Let me back in."

Sherlock grinned at him and his ears popped back up. He scurried backwards as John stood up. John climbed back into hisbed and Sherlock immediately cuddled up to him. John sighed, but put an arm around the other man anyway. Sherlock's tail curled around his wrist (again) and Sherlock burrowed his face in John's chest. John tried not to think about how they were in bed together. He pushed it from his mind and thought instead about what had made him sit straight up in the first place.

"Sherlock…you told me you loved me," John said quietly.

"I do," Sherlock mumbled sleepily into John's shirt.

"Like really love?" John urged, "Or just friend love?"

Sherlock hummed and John looked down to see the detective was already half-asleep.

"Dunno," Sherlock finally answered, "Kinda new to it."

"To love?" John clarified.

"Mmm-hmm," Sherlock hummed in reply.

John bit his lip, wanting to ask so many questions. He sighed heavily and pressed closer to Sherlock.

"I love you too, Sherlock," John whispered.

Sherlock didn't say anything. John was pretty sure he was already asleep. _Oh well, _John thought as he allowed himself to drift off into dreams once again.

* * *

**Little note: I'm not going to lie, this is one of my favorite fanfictions that I've written so far. I'm pretty happy with it, though it was supposed to be funnier than it is. Anyway, hope you guys liked this chappie! Love you all!**


	6. Chapter 6

The shift in their relationship was hardly noticeable at first. It started with slightly lingering touches, fond looks from across the room, and lack of clothes when about the flat (in Sherlock's case). John scowled as Sherlock once again emerged from his room with absolutely nothing on. He didn't even have a sheet this time. John returned to his book, rather frustrated that Sherlock had no modesty. He refused to acknowledge the stirrings in his pants as he read the next line.

A meowing sound and a bit of heat against his leg drew him out of his book once again. He looked down at Sherlock who was on all fours, rubbing his side against John's leg. John choked on his tongue as Sherlock's tail came up and curled around his leg. Sherlock was giving off his normal "Pet me!" vibes, but John could hardly pet the man while he was naked. Sherlock let out a frustrated sound and pressed against John harder.

"I require petting," Sherlock stated, rubbing his hip against John's shin.

"Sherlock, you're naked," John said in a slow, careful voice.

"So?" Sherlock questioned.

"I can't pet you while you're naked," John answered, a blush forming on his cheeks.

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded.

"Because I would be touching your bare skin…" John whispered, his eyes travelling to where Sherlock's stitches had been.

That was Sherlock's sweet spot. The one that made Sherlock make the most obscene noises. He hadn't been able to touch it for a while, because Sherlock still had stitches. But now there were no stiches, only red lines where the stitches had been. Which meant John could touch it now and get those wonderful noises to spill from Sherlock's pretty lips. He made the decision before his mind could clear and his hand rubbed the spot gently.

Sherlock stopped mid-rant and let out a mewling sound. His back dipped, bringing his ass up higher for John's viewing. And boy did John view it! Sherlock shifted and brought his hands up to rest on John's knee. John stiffened as Sherlock pressed against his leg and purred. John swallowed his shock and leaned forward to rub at Sherlock's lower back again. Sherlock made a keening noise and his hips thrust against John. John swallowed again as a prominent heat pressed against him.

This was the precise moment that Mycroft decided to enter the flat. He cleared his throat loudly and Sherlock whipped his head around to look at him. Sherlock let out his warning hiss and John covered his face with his hands, sure that he'd never been and never would be more embarrassed.

"Brother, you shouldn't try to seduce Dr. Watson like that," Mycroft said in a half-amused tone.

"Oh, really, _brother?_" Sherlock snipped back, "Then how should I?"

"I would say that a proper date would work," Mycroft answered smoothly; "You're testing his since of morality which only makes the situation uncomfortable for him. Which in turn would make the sex uncomfortable for you."

"Don't be daft," Sherlock snapped, "John would never make anything uncomfortable for me!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps not intentionally," Mycroft said, "But if you make him uncomfortable, then it will be tense. Perhaps maybe you should also wait until he knows something about having intercourse with a man."

John, who had been silent through the banter (because clearly the Holmes brothers didn't need him to tell them how he felt about what), spoke up to correct Mycroft.

"I already know how to make sex with a man," he stated clearly, as though it should have been obvious.

"What?!" Sherlock screeched, his head whipping around to face John again, "Why didn't you tell me that?!"

"Oh, er, I thought you knew," John answered honestly.

"Wait," Sherlock relaxed slightly, half turning his head back to Mycroft, "You just know from reading about it, obviously."

"Um, no," John corrected once again, "From experience."

Sherlock's head came around with such force that John would swear he heard it pop.

"Then why haven't we had sex?!" Sherlock demanded loudly.

"Don't be crude, brother," Mycroft said coldly, "Not everyone with experience wants to have sex with you."

(But John did, just for the record)

"We haven't because I don't just go having sex with my friends," John said calmly, "I actually have morals and all that."

Sherlock frowned at him, clearly confused about what exactly morals meant in regards to sex. He seemed to be figuring things out though, as his face cleared and he jumped up, clapping his hands.

"You don't have sex with friends," Sherlock repeated back at John, "But you'd have sex if I was your _boy_friend, wouldn't you?"

John blushed at the childish word and the fact that Sherlock was now standing stark naked in all his glory right in front of John. And thanks to the detective's height, John got an eyeful of Consulting Detective Dick (which was better than Bartender Dick and Biology Partner Dick, and even Lead Singer of a Pretty Cool Band Dick). Sherlock seemed oblivious to the issue as he tapped his foot, waiting for John's answer. John watched Sherlock's crotch bounce as the detective tapped his foot for a good 10 seconds, before bringing his eyes back up to Sherlock's face.

"Er, yeah, I guess so," John answered.

"Interesting!" Sherlock exclaimed.

He turned around and hurried into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. John sat awkwardly as Mycroft shook his head disapprovingly. He directed his attention back at John. John shifted slightly under the sudden attention.

"Well, I was here to give Sherlock a case," Mycroft said, "But it appears that whatever experiment you just provided him with is much more interesting. Do let me know how it turns out. Ah yes, and if you ever compare my brother's penis to other men's ever again, I will cut yours off and give it to Sherlock for experimenting. Have a wonderful day!"

With that, Mycroft left the flat as John instinctively crossed his legs. John wondered how Mycroft had known the brief comparison he'd made, but then he reminded himself that the Holmes brother's knew just about everything. He sighed heavily and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Before long (seriously, it was like five minutes, if that), Sherlock's hand was tapping John's cheek. John opened his eyes and scowled at the detective who was wearing the newsboy cap again. John frowned as he noticed that Sherlock was dressed to go out.

"Get up John!" Sherlock snapped, "We have to go!"

John rolled his eyes and moved to get up. Sherlock backed off and watched him closely as he stood and stretched. He had been about to take a nap when Sherlock came over slapping his face and what not. John ambled over to his coat and threw it on. Sherlock bounded past him and out the door, without grabbing his coat. John sighed heavily and took Sherlock's coat, hurrying to catch up with him.

"Never dull," he mumbled as he stepped out of 221B.

* * *

**Little note: I rewrote this chapter like 3 times...Hope it turned out good. Love you all!**


	7. Chapter 7

John watched Sherlock suspiciously as he ate his Chicken Alfredo. Sherlock munched away at some sort of pasta that had fish in it. John squinted at him. He was starting to wonder what exactly was going on here. John sipped at the expensive wine Sherlock had ordered. He hoped it wasn't coming out of his card, but he didn't care too much because it was giving him a lovely buzz.

"So when did you decide to become a doctor?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"When I was-," John stopped the automatic answer and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock once again, "Why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know," Sherlock said innocently.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. _Best not question it, _he thought briefly.

"I was 15," John said, pushing some food around on his plate, "I was in a restaurant and a man had a heart attack. I decided then that I didn't want to helplessly watch someone die ever again."

"What did you want to be before that?" Sherlock questioned.

John eyed him for a moment before answering.

"You wouldn't believe me," John said hesitantly.

"You don't lie to me," Sherlock stated.

"I wanted to be a detective," John admitted sheepishly.

Sherlock laughed a little.

"Well, you got that," Sherlock said in an amused voice, "A Doctor Detective. I like it."

John blushed slightly at the intense look in Sherlock's eyes.

"I wanted to be a pirate," Sherlock admitted.

"I know," John said, before he could stop himself.

Sherlock looked startled and John silently cursed himself.

"How could you have known that?" Sherlock asked in a confused voice.

"I'm sorry," John said, feeling rather guilty, "Mycroft told me."

"Oh, right, of course," Sherlock said, his face clearing, "Should have known that prat was giving out information about me."

John gave him a pained look.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John repeated.

"What? Why?" Sherlock sputtered slightly, confusion clouding his face again.

"I know you were trying to open up and I ruined it," John said sadly, "I'm sorry for that."

"Oh, don't be silly, John," Sherlock waved his hand as though to wave away John's silliness, "I'll just tell you more. For example, I'm secretly obsessed with honey bees."

John blinked owlishly for a moment.

"Honey bees?" John tested hesitantly.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, "I find them quite fascinating. I also keep secret stashes of honey about the flat."

John blinked rapidly again.

"Honey?" John questioned.

"Yes, it's incredibly sweet," Sherlock said brightly, "Very delicious. I used to eat it in large quantities when I was younger."

John tried to process the new information.

"Oh, yes, and I kept bees for a while," Sherlock said thoughtfully, "But I was not as good at it as I hoped I would be, so I gave the bees back to the man who taught me. I visit them every few years and get a jar of honey that's made from them. Well, the original ones are long dead by now, but their child produce honey just as good as they did."

John smiled widely at the distant, dreamy look on Sherlock's face.

"So tell me about the bees," John pressed.

John put his elbow on the table and leaned his head onto his hand. He listened to Sherlock talk animatedly about the bees he'd kept. Sherlock seemed keen on describing how they "danced" in the hive. John nodded occasionally, only speaking to ask questions. Sherlock happily delved into the subject of bees for hours. It wasn't until Angelo came over and told them they'd been their five hours that Sherlock stopped talking about the bees and everything that went with them.

Sherlock had jumped up and out of the door and walked off into the dark as soon as Angelo had come over and said it'd been five hours. John hurried to catch up with the man. John looked around for Sherlock, squinting into the dark to see where he'd gone off to.

"What are you looking for?" a baritone asked from right behind him.

John jumped and whirled around. He smacked Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Don't scare me like that!" John scowled at him, "I was looking for you."

"But I was here," Sherlock said, clearly confused.

"You don't usually wait for me," John reminded him.

"Oh, right," Sherlock shook his head as though to clear it.

John noticed then that Sherlock was wringing his hands. Sherlock was _flustered. _

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John questioned, reaching a hand out to his friend.

Sherlock automatically leaned into the hand and purred. John saw his friend's shoulders relax slightly. Sherlock shuffled forward and rubbed his head against John's shoulder.

"This took longer than I thought it would," Sherlock said, his voice vibrating with loud purrs.

"What is this?" John asked, confused and tired of never knowing what was going on.

"Our first date, John," Sherlock said in an exasperated voice, "Do keep up."

John rolled his eyes and started to make some snappy retort, but then froze.

"Did you say "date"?" John demanded, pushing Sherlock away to face him.

Sherlock looked irritated at the loss of physical contact. He hissed slightly before straightening himself in an effort to regain his dignity (which was nowhere to be found).

"Yes, you said you would have sex with me if we were _boyfriends," _Sherlock said the last word like it tasted like the smell of liver and onions, "So I am courting you."

John laughed at Sherlock's wording, but had to sober up when he realized what Sherlock was saying.

"Well, normally people don't go through that whole process when they just want to get laid," John said, "And normally people ask for a date, they don't just whisk someone off for one."

Sherlock went silent, a calculating look in his eyes.

"Ah, well, give me a second chance then," Sherlock said.

John frowned at him.

"Don't you mean "Please, John, can you give me a second chance?"?" John said rather forcefully.

Sherlock glared and his face contorted to hiss, but he quickly stifled it.

"Please, John, can you give me a second chance?" Sherlock recited, adding a sweet smile.

"Yes, Sherlock, I will," John said, "But I think you need to learn a bit more about "courting" before you try again."

Sherlock's eyebrows came together at that.

"Where would I get this information?" Sherlock asked.

"Go talk to Lestrade," John suggested.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed as he steepled his fingers under his chin, "Lestrade knows of social etiquette?"

John laughed, but felt like sobbing.

"Yes, Sherlock, Lestrade knows," John answered tiredly.

"Alright then!" Sherlock exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

He pulled out his phone and quickly located Lestrade's number.

"Hello, Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned brightly, "I need your help."

John could imagine Lestrade sputtering on the other end of the line and falling out of his chair. Then rushing to get his shoes and coat on because he would assume it was something to do with drugs. He was pretty sure Lestrade was sputtering something about "Stay where you are" now, but Sherlock interrupted him.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Sherlock stated, "I'm courting John and I require information on how to go about it."

John giggled a bit as he imagined more sputtering from Lestrade. He smacked his forehead. This was not what he had meant when he said "Go talk to Lestrade", but it was quite humorous none-the-less.

"You have to help me!" Sherlock said in a frustrated tone, "I help you all the time! Social rules say that if someone does you a favor you owe them one in return."

There was a pause and then Sherlock's scowl deepened.

"That doesn't count," he said quietly.

There was a long quiet spell in which Sherlock's face changed to one of fascination.

"Ah, but what if-," Sherlock stopped short and listened some more, "Well, how many-."

Sherlock tapped his mouth for a moment, listening with rapt attention.

"Is that all?" Sherlock questioned.

There was another pause and then Sherlock snorted.

"Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes.

But he stopped again and listened carefully once more.

"Ah, thank you, Lestrade!" Sherlock exclaimed, "You have been most helpful! Do not call me for a case until I say otherwise. Thank you very much!"

Sherlock hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Then he grinned widely at John and hurried off into the night. John frowned and followed after him, briefly wondering what he'd gotten himself into.


	8. Chapter 8

Lestrade jerked awake as his phone went off. He opened it and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" he muttered sleepily.

"Hello, Lestrade? I need your help." The baritone has him wide awake and stumbling out of the chair he's curled up on.

"Shit, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted, "What is it? Oh fuck! What have you done?! Drugs?! Is it drugs?! Dammit, Sherlock if you've-."

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Sherlock said sharply, "I'm courting John and I require information on how to go about it."

Lestrade paused halfway through struggling to get his shoes on.

"What?!" Lestrade shouted, "That's what you're calling for?! Dammit Sherlock! I can't help you with that!"

He heard distant giggling through the phone and knew it was John. He scowled, _John probably told him to call me, the prat._

"You have to help me!" Sherlock said in an annoyed voice, "I help you all the time! Social rules say that if someone does you a favor you owe them one in return."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"What about all those times I pulled you out of the gutter when you were strung out?" Lestrade pointed out.

There was a pause and Lestrade could practically see the scowl on Sherlock's face.

"That doesn't count," Sherlock said quietly.

"Yeah, it kinda does," Lestrade answered.

He sighed heavily.

"Ok, first things first," Lestrade started, "When you ask him on a date, don't tell him to go with you. Say "John, would you like to have dinner with me on Friday?" or whatever. It doesn't count if you just tell him to go. Second thing, be polite. If he turns you down or say he can't go a certain day, don't get pissed and yell at him, because that will just make him less likely to go with you. When he does accept, don't act like a prat, just say "thank you for the honor". When you go on the date, be punctual and friendly. Don't do any of that deducing crap. Bring him a gift. Something nice, but not too nice. You don't want him to think you're trying to buy him. Flowers work for girls, but I don't know about guys. Now when you're on the actual date, be courteous and kind. Ask him things about himself. If you get bored, don't act like you're bored, it will make him think that you think he's boring. Do not interrupt the date for anything."

"Ah, but what if-," Sherlock started, but Lestrade cut him off.

"No buts Sherlock!" Lestrade snapped, "You want him to feel like he's the most important thing at that moment, because he should be. Now when the date is over, don't try to have sex with him. It's the first date, there's time for that later."

"Well, how many-," Sherlock started to demand.

"Don't Sherlock," Lestrade said firmly, "Makes you sound like a horny teenager. You wait until John makes a move on you, because I don't trust you to realize when the appropriate time is. It's usually about the third or fourth date that people say they're officially a couple. Don't say it until John says it. Also, when you kiss him, be light about it. Match him. If he deepens the kiss, you go with it, if he backs off, you back off. Sometimes it's ok to take the initiative, but if you see that John isn't comfortable, then don't push it."

"Is that all?" Sherlock questioned.

"Sherlock, don't be a prat," Lestrade said, "Just remember, if John says no or stop, you stop."

"Obviously," Sherlock said, snorting.

"Seriously, Sherlock," Lestrade said in warning, "I know you tend to get carried away, but in this situation you have to put John before yourself. Anyway, good luck with the courting and all that."

"Ah, thank you, Lestrade!" Sherlock exclaimed, "You have been most helpful! Do not call me for a case until I say otherwise. Thank you very much!"

The line went dead and Lestrade was rather shocked. Not only had Sherlock said thank you, he'd said it twice! _Hmm, _Lestrade thought, _I guess John really is changing him for the better. _He shrugged his shoulders and relaxed back into his chair. Now, if only his own advice worked on a certain someone…

* * *

"Go on a date with me," Sherlock stated.

The tone was friendly, but it was still a command.

"Sherlock…" John trailed off, not sure what to say.

Sherlock cleared his throat and tired again.

"John, will you go on a date with me?" Sherlock said in a rather pained tone, "On Friday."

John smiled slightly at Sherlock's effort.

"I dunno," John said, playing coy, "What would we do?"

"Have a drink," Sherlock stated flatly.

"Where?" John pressed.

"Muriel," Sherlock stated, "I know the owner."

"I haven't ever been there before," John commented thoughtfully.

Sherlock looked like he was in pain as John "thought" about it.

"Ok, sure," John finally said, "What time will you pick me up?"

Sherlock frowned and John grinned. Then Sherlock's face cleared and he smiled.

"Eight o'clock sharp," Sherlock said.

"I'm looking forward to it," John said, beaming at Sherlock.

Sherlock then left the kitchen and John continued about making his cup of tea.

"Oh, don't wear a suit," Sherlock said, poking his head back around the corner, "Where comfortable clothes. But not that hideo-."

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"But not the jumpers," Sherlock corrected himself, "You will get too hot if you do."

"As you wish," John said, laughing a bit.

Sherlock looked as though he wanted to say something else. John waited, but Sherlock just let out a frustrated sound and went back around the corner. John couldn't help but feel rather elated at this new development of Sherlock "courting" him. Sometimes he'd stop and remember the reason why it was happening and his eyes would tear up, but for the most part he just relished in Sherlock's new consideration towards him.

The kettle whistled at him and he was brought out of his contented staring into space. He quickly poured his tea and went to sit in his favorite chair. He was trying to decide between blogging and reading when his phone chimed. He looked at it in confusion. It was a text from Lestrade.

_How's "courting" going, mate?_

_ Sherlock's asked me to get a drink with him on Friday. Clearly whatever you said affected him because he's being incredibly nice._

_ Sherlock nice? Well, I'm pretty incredible then!_

John laughed lightly before responding.

_And how are you still single, Greg?_

_ Well, my pursuit is a mite more stubborn than you…_

_ Oooh! Someone I know?_

_ Yes…._

John squinted at the phone. _Who could it possibly be? _He wondered briefly.

_Going to give me a hint?_

There was a long pause and John imagined Lestrade debating about what sort of hint wouldn't reveal too much.

_Well…it's a bloke for one. And he's intelligent._

John wasn't half as surprised as he should've been to hear that it was a bloke. But intelligent? What did that mean?

_Really intelligent or just vaguely intelligent?_

_ Really intelligent. There are only two people in the world who are on this level._

_ MYCOFT HOLMES?! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!_

_ Yeah…he's surprisingly charming sometimes…_

_ Wow. Ok. I was not expecting that. But he's rejecting your advances? Maybe he just doesn't realize you're making a move. You know these Holmes' are rather stupid sometimes._

_ I guess that's true. I think he wants me to do something extraordinary before he considers me. _

_ So save his life._

_ Ha ha. Very funny. I can't save someone's life unless they're in danger._

_ Oh, well, I'd be happy to point a gun at his head…_

_ Haha! I appreciate the sentiment, but if you did, I'd have to break your face._

_ Wow, so I guess it's serious. :P_

_ Is that a tongue face?_

_ Yes, yes it is. And I am not ashamed._

_ John, you've gone loony._

_ Well you can blame Sherlock for that._

_ Oh, I do. So you want to grab a pint later?_

_ Careful, Greg, you don't want Sherlock thinking he's got competition! Though I'm sure Mycroft would come to his sense if he saw you with someone else._

_ You think he's the jealous type?_

_ Holmes' aren't jealous. They merely know what belongs to them._

_ Now you sound like them._

_ They've rubbed off on me. Can't help it. Anyway, 8 sound good to you?_

_ Sure. I'll meet you at O'Malley's._

_ It's a date! :P_

_ You're going to get in trouble for your flirting Dr. Watson.:) _

_ Good._

After that John laid his phone on the end table and happily went to reading his book.

* * *

**Little note: I have no idea why I do Mystrade all the time. It's not even that believable. But I like writing scenes where Lestrade and John gossip about their Holmeses. :P THANK YOU ALL FOR REVIEWS, FOLLOWS AND FAVORITES!**


	9. Chapter 9

John was waiting patiently in the living room for Sherlock when the knock came at the door. He frowned and checked the time. It was already eight o'clock. _Who would be calling at this hour? _John wondered briefly as he made his way down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was off on her own date at the moment and therefore was unable to get the door. John grumbled to himself about inconvenient timing and opened the door.

He was quite surprised to find Sherlock standing in front of him. He blinked hard several times.

"How did you get out of the flat?" John demanded, "I've been in the living room!"

"I went out the window," Sherlock said in a smug voice.

John noted that Sherlock had flowers in his hands. He grinned.

"Are those for me?" he asked, smiling widely at Sherlock.

Sherlock's cheeks tinted a rather lovely shade of pink and he nodded. He held them out for John, turning away like an embarrassed teenager going on his first date. John realized that he was probably going on his first date. He took the flowers and buried his nose in them. They smelled quite lovely and that made John's smile widen even more. He looked down at them to see what they actually were. Three red Camellias lay gently together on the paper that was wrapped around them.

"Do you know what these flowers mean, Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Sherlock stated simply, "It means that you're a fire in my heart. You bring me warmth and light. Completely accurate, of course."

Sherlock was waving his hand dismissively and that made John smile softly.

"I'll go put them in water," John said, turning to go back up the stairs.

"I left a vase of water right inside the door," Sherlock said.

John looked at the table that stood by the door. There was in fact a vase of water sitting on it. John gently put the flowers into the vase, moving them so that their faces were looking towards the stairs. That way, John would see them when he came down the stairs. He smiled fondly at them for a moment before stepping out of the flat and locking the door behind him.

When he got closer to Sherlock he sneezed loudly.

"Bless you," Sherlock said, his nose wrinkling.

"Sorry," John muttered, sniffing.

He sneezed three times in rapid order. He sniffled and brought his sleeve up to his nose, turning away from Sherlock.

"Dammit," John muttered, "There's something on you that is making me sneeze."

Sherlock frowned.

"It's not the cat…?" he left the question open.

John shook his head furiously, sneezing again.

"I'm not allergic to cats," he said in a nasally voice.

Sherlock's frown deepened.

"The only thing that is different is this flower," Sherlock stated, pulling a flower out from his coat, "I was going to give it to you after we got home."

John backed away hurriedly, stumbling as he went.

"Keep it away from me!" he hissed, "That's a Protea! I'm deathly allergic to those!"

Sherlock scowled at him and turned away. He walked down an alley for a moment and then made his way back to John, flowerless.

"Better?" Sherlock questioned in a tired voice.

John sneezed again, keeping his sleeve pressed against his nose.

"Not exactly," John said, "I can't touch you."

"What? Why?!" Sherlock demanded.

"You have the Protea still on you, Sherlock," John said warily, "You don't have an allergy, do you?"

"No, I don't," Sherlock admitted, "I didn't know you did. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not exactly a common flower, Sherlock!" John snapped.

He sneezed violently and twisted away from Sherlock.

"You have to go change," John said, sounding rather miserable, "And scrub your hands."

Sherlock didn't answer. He merely let himself into the flat and went to change his clothes. John sat down heavily on the front step. He sneezed a few more times, his eyes watering. This wasn't exactly what he imagined when Sherlock asked him on the date. He silently stewed over the annoying flower messing up his date for several minutes. Then he sneezed rather forcefully.

"It had to be that flower," he grumbled nasally, "It's so uncommon and yet that's the one he chose. Fucking ugly flower too."

"You think so?" Sherlock's voice called from behind him.

John jumped and twisted his head around to look up at Sherlock, who was standing in the now open doorway. Sherlock's eyebrows were furrowed, but his expression was unreadable. John sneezed as though to demonstrate, that yes, he did think so.

"There are over 1,400 different varieties," Sherlock commented, "You can't possibly dislike them all."

"I'm allergic to them Sherlock!" John snapped, "If I come in contact with one I could die, so yes, I do think I can dislike them all!"

John noticed that he couldn't see where Sherlock's ears pressed against the hat; his ears were flattened against his head. John jumped up and grabbed the man into a hug very suddenly.

"It's ok, Sherlock," John assured him, "I don't mind. I'm sure the thought was wonderful. I just get irritable when I-."

A sneeze interrupted his sentence. He turned his face away from Sherlock and covered his nose with his sleeve.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice muffled by his sleeve, "It takes it a bit to subside."

"I'm very sorry, John," Sherlock said quietly, "I had no idea that you were allergic."

"Don't be sorry, silly," John said lightly, "You couldn't have known that. Can I ask you why a Protea of all the flowers in the world?"

"It means diversity and courage," Sherlock stated, "You are different than anyone I have ever known and you are far more courageous than the average person. I thought it was very fitting. I was going to give it to you at the end of the date when I asked you to go on a second date with me."

"That's so swee-!"

John sneezed into his sleeve twice, effectively ruining the lovely moment.

"Sweet! It's sweet Sherlock," John exclaimed, "That's so kind of you!"

Sherlock looked away as though he was embarrassed.

"Let's go now, shall we?" he suggested, "Or do you need more time to stop the sneezing?"

"It should subside in a bit," John said dismissively, "The ride there will be enough to get rid of it."

"Then in you go," Sherlock said, sweeping forward.

John looked around in confusion. There was a sleek black car pulled up to the curb and Sherlock was currently holding the back door open for John. _How did I not see that before? _He wondered wildly as he stepped forward to slide into the car. _Must have borrowed it from Mycroft, _John mused as he situated himself on the left side of the car. Sherlock slid in and slammed the door behind him.

John opened his mouth to say something about slamming doors, but he sneezed instead.

"Fuck!" he shouted, still holding his nose from when he grabbed it in the sneeze.

Sherlock looked at him with a frown.

"Sorry, I just hate sneezing," John muttered, "It's just annoying."

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at him and then turned away to look back out the window. John could see that his ears were still pressed flat against his head. Usually that meant that Sherlock was sad. John frowned, wishing he knew what the detective was thinking.

"Hey, Sherlock," John said softly, laying his hand on Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock looked at him with a blank expression, but John could tell that meant something not good was going on inside Sherlock's head.

"Thank you, Sherlock," he whispered, smiling softly.

"For what?" Sherlock questioned, clearly confused.

"For the flowers," John answered, "And taking me on this date. I really appreciate it. I'm glad you asked me."

Sherlock's face seemed to soften and his ears lifted underneath his hat.

"It's my honor, John," he said quietly.

John blushed and looked away sheepishly.

"That's a sweet thing for you to say," John said, still not daring to raise his voice.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something (one of those somethings that usually got him in trouble), but he thought better of it and just smiled at John instead. John smiled back. He was vaguely aware that his hand was still on Sherlock's arm. He didn't care though. All he cared about was that he was going on a date with Sherlock and he was feeling rather wonderful about it.

* * *

**Little note: There you go: Sweet Sherlock being sweet. :D Hope you liked it, cuz I sure did! Thanks for all the support and a special thank you to all you reviewers. Especially reflectiveless and Nephisa, who have reviewed several times. You guys rock! All of you rock! You all get gold stars! Love you all!**


	10. Chapter 10

John started feeling queasy about thirty seconds after they walked through the door of Muriel. Sherlock held his upper arm and guided him towards a booth. The one he chose was tucked in the corner of the club. John wondered how Sherlock could be so calm in this sea of people. John slid into the booth and glanced about nervously. Sherlock's hand snaked out and took ahold of his across the table. John gave him a nervous smile.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah, just people," John jumbled up his words, "Sorry, there's just a lot of people."

Sherlock smiled at him in what might have been sympathy (but with Sherlock, who the hell knows what, if anything, he's feeling).

"I'll go get you a drink," Sherlock said, "What do you want?"

"Rum," John said, his voice uneven, "I don't really care what it is. Just rum of some sort."

Sherlock squinted at him suspiciously, but didn't say anything. He disappeared into the crowd, which didn't really help John's nerves at all. He hadn't really allowed himself to actually think about the date. He'd allowed himself a small fantasy that it would lead to some wonderfully dream-like relationship, but every time his thoughts neared the fact that Sherlock was doing this just because he wanted to have sex, John just shut down and didn't think about it. But now that he was sitting there in a room full of sweaty, horny, intoxicated people the thoughts flooded through him.

And damn, it was depressing!

"John?" Sherlock's voice whispered in John's ear.

John jumped as he realized Sherlock was practically right on top of him. Sherlock backed off slightly.

"I apologize," Sherlock said, "I didn't think you could hear me with the music. Here's your drink."

He held out the sweaty glass to John, who greedily took it and gulped down at least a forth of it. Sherlock slid into the booth again, giving John weird looks.

"Bounty," John commented, looking at the class of caramel colored liquid.

"The bartender said it's the sweetest kind," Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock's drink to see it was the same. He clinked his glass to Sherlock's.

"Cheers!" he said brightly, grinning.

He was glad Sherlock had made it back quickly so he didn't have long to sit and be depressed. He lifted the drink to his mouth and gulped down some more. Sherlock sipped at his, but wrinkled his nose.

"I don't understand why you like this stuff," Sherlock said in disgust, "All it's good for is getting people to make bad decisions by making them loopy and out of their mind."

"Well, gee," John said, a sarcastic tone creeping into his voice, "Cocaine does the same thing."

Sherlock looked at him sharply, his face contorting into a hiss. John merely sneered at him and drank down more of his rum. He downed it pretty quickly and a waiter came by and filled it. John was grateful for the buzzing in his skin and the warmth in his belly as he drank the second glass. Sherlock wasn't saying anything and John assumed it was because the cocaine thing was a low blow. But he thought dating someone just because you wanted in their pants was a low blow.

They stared at each other for a long time. John gulped down his second glass and was starting to feel weightless. Sherlock hadn't taken a drink since the initial sip. Suddenly, a song that John knew and loved started playing over the loud speakers. John grabbed the detective's drink and downed half of it and then jumped out of the booth. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him into the middle of the mass of writhing bodies. He could feel heat inside his bone marrow and he suddenly needed to do this.

He threw his hands up around Sherlock's neck without hesitation. He didn't care if that made him the girl. Sherlock awkwardly placed hands on John's hips and looked away. John started moving to the beat, the pounding of the speakers seeping into his skin. The music's beat and his own heart beat began to meld together. Sherlock awkwardly tried to move with him, but didn't seem to be able to keep up. John threw his head back and laughed, the music hitting every patch of exposed skin on him.

There were no thoughts as John pressed closer to Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to welcome this new closeness as he slid his hands to John's back and pressed John slightly closer. John closed his eyes and blended into the air around him. There was only a feeling of lightness that made him float into the next world. With Sherlock's breath on his cheek and the music pounding in his blood, he was gone. He was far more gone than any alcohol or drug could ever make a person.

He paused as the music stopped around him. He sagged against Sherlock, whimpering at the loss of it all. Sherlock helped him back to their booth where they slid into the same side together. John leaned heavily against Sherlock, panting slightly. He was starting to feel that rum. He giggled and nuzzled Sherlock's shoulder, evening his breathing though he was half out of his mind. Hey, the man ran all over London was a mad genius all the time; he could take a bit of vigorous dancing.

"Alright, folks," a voice sounded through the club, "Listen up!"

John blinked heavily and looked towards the small stage, where a man about Sherlock's age was standing, microphone poised in front of his face. John had calmed down considerably and was now wondering what the man wanted to tell everyone.

"Are regulars know what night it is," the man said, grinning widely, "But for you first-timers, it's Swing Night!"

Several people started cheering and John frowned. _Like swing dancing? I haven't done that since…damn. I haven't done that since Tom was learning…_John's interest was piqued at the thought of swing dancing. Now that was a vigorous dance!

"For those of you who don't know the rules," man continued, "They're quite simple: Find a partner to dance with and dance until you can't or you get tapped on the shoulder. Once you're out, get off the floor to make room for the remaining couples! Easy enough, yeah?"

The crowd let out a positive sounding cheer and John lifted his head from Sherlock's shoulder.

"Now, the last couple left dancing will win a prize," the man said, "A cash prize of a hundred dollars, free drinks for a week, and you'll get your names and pictures on the Hall of Fame!"

John felt something begin to buzz inside him (besides the alcohol). He loved swing dancing! It had been so long, he probably wouldn't even remember how…he sighed heavily and looked away from the man who was saying that the competition started in 20 minutes and they had to go write their names down quickly if they wanted to do it. John couldn't help the disappointed feeling in his chest as he stared down at the table.

Suddenly, he was ripped away from the table and towards some unknown destination. He stumbled as Sherlock dragged him somewhere. He figured it was the door to leave, but they went a different direction. _Some crime then? _John guessed silently, trying to look around Sherlock to see where they were going.

Sherlock drew to a halt in front of a booth where the man who'd made the announcement was sitting. He pulled John forwards and clamped a hand around his waist. John frowned, his sluggish mind trying to catch up with the situation (though it was miles behind). The man grinned up at them and picked up a pen, holding it over a paper in front of him as though he was about to write something. He looked at them expectantly.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock stated clearly, "And John Watson."

* * *

**Little note: Yes, it's going to happen. Because Swing Dancing is like a hobby of mine. Love that shit. Anyway, hope ya'll liked it! **

**Oh and to the Guest who reviewed about how it was ridiculous for John to suggest that Sherlock go to a prostitute when he was in heat and that he could have just wanked:**

**1. The goal of heat is not to have sex, but to mate. Sherlock's hormones were driving him to find a mate and make babies, not to satisfy his own sexual need. **

**2. I could have wrote Sherlock wanking, but that wouldn't have solved anything or really made any sense.**

**3. John is clearly smart enough to know that this was Sherlock's cat hormones, not his human hormones. **

**Thank you for reviewing, I do hope this cleared up some things.**

**Love you all for all of your support! Hope to see you next chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

"Sh-Sherlock?" John mumbled, "What are we doing?"

Sherlock didn't answer and instead pulled John by the hand out onto the dance floor where they had been minutes before. John stumbled slightly as Sherlock halted and spun him around to face him. John bumped into Sherlock and muttered an apology. Sherlock ignored John's mutterings and gripped his waist. John's sluggish mind suddenly snapped into place.

"Sherlock, no!" John exclaimed, "We don't…we can't…"

Sherlock smirked at him and gripped his hand, extending their clasped hands outward.

"What's the matter John?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head to the left, "Don't you want to dance with me?"

John blushed profusely.

"Sherlock, I'm drunk!" he whispered fiercely, "And we have no routine!"

"True," Sherlock admitted, "When a squeeze your hand, we go that way. When I squeeze your waist, we go that way. Have you followed before?"

John's face was a permanent shade of red.

"Yes," he confessed in a tiny voice, "A friend of mine was learning and he needed a partner."

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed, "Now, which method did you learn?"

"Well, Lindy Hop mostly," John shrugged, "But we learned a bit of Balboa."

"Lindy Hop isn't necessarily learned," Sherlock snorted, "It's mostly improvisation and-."

Sherlock stopped and cleared his throat.

"Wonderful," he amended, "Now, just follow my lead. Lean with me unless I squeeze your hand. I'll release you for spins and lifts. You already know that though, of course."

"Luh-lifts?" John sputtered, "Sh-Sherlock, I don't thi-."

John was interrupted by that (_stupid) _announcer again. John silently cursed the energetic man that bounced on the stage.

"Alright folks!" he called out, clapping his hands together, "Let's get swinging!"

John rolled his eyes at the pun as the music started. His palms began to sweat as Sherlock stepped slightly closer. Sherlock grinned wickedly at him and the only thought that John could clearly think was: _oh shit! _He started to look down to his feet as they began to move of their own accord, but remembered that eye contact was key to swing dancing. It was the only way to communicate with your partner.

It started simple: their feet kicking and their bodies rocking. Pretty soon John was remembering how exhilarating swing dancing was. It provided the adrenaline he loved so much, without the bullets and bad guys. He didn't know what it was about the dance, but it made him wake up like a butterfly ripping from its cocoon prison. He grinned up at Sherlock.

That's about the time when things got serious.

Suddenly, Sherlock winked his left eye and sent John out to his left. John went with the flow and before he knew it, he was kicking his feet, hand in hand with Sherlock, grinning like a mad man. Sherlock flashed dangerous eyes at him and tugged his hand. John spun swiftly back into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock stopped him before he hit his chest squeezed John's hand tightly. John didn't know what he was doing until it was done.

Sherlock lifted him up into the air and over his lithe form. John went with the motion, practically cartwheeling over Sherlock and sliding between the tall man's thin legs. His breath was gone after that, as Sherlock lifted him smoothly up to his feet and they faced each other. They never once stopped moving. They kicked side to side as their hands flared out beside them. John grinned, unable to contain the bubble of happiness inside him.

Sherlock's eyes widened the slightest bit and John winked back. John spun around, stopping beside Sherlock and grabbed his hand, their feet keeping up with the music. Sherlock leaned forward and spun so they were back to back. Sherlock leaned even further and John pressed against him. One leg went up and then the other and he was in the air. Before he could blink he was back on his feet.

He could sense Sherlock behind him, moving in step with him. Sherlock grabbed his hand and spun him twice before halting him right in front of him and lifting him in the air. John would've squealed, if he wasn't so manly. As Sherlock brought him back down, he directed his legs to the space at Sherlock's right. Sherlock lifted him again and as he brought him down he directed his legs to the left. The third time his legs split and the music stopped.

Sherlock stared down at him, panting heavily. John's left leg was bent at the knee and pressed to Sherlock's right side. The other leg was lifted in the air and pressed against Sherlock's left side. John was gripping Sherlock's shoulders tightly as the other man gripped his sides. Sherlock leaned down slightly, but was interrupted by an eruption of applause. John and Sherlock looked around in bewilderment: they'd forgotten there was anyone else in the world.

"I think we have our winners ladies and gentlemen!" a familiar voice sounded over the speakers.

John blinked hard, trying to clear his mind. He tipped his head back and looked at the announcer upside down. Sherlock straightened out, bringing John with him. John hesitantly put his feet back on solid ground and looked around at everyone. Most were giving him thumbs up, but some were looking rather angry. He turned back to Sherlock, who was watching him closely.

"I don't understand," John said softly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

"You won, John," Sherlock explained, "The competition we were dancing for. You won."

John looked around, dazedly. He clutched to Sherlock tighter as realization dawned on him.

"_We _won, idiot," he muttered.

Sherlock smiled warmly at him.

"We won," he repeated back.

John leaned forward and kissed that beautifully warm smile. That was going to be his smile, he decided. No one else would ever be allowed to have it. It was all his forever. There were some whistles and cheers as Sherlock pressed back against him. Something soft and furry wrapped around John's waist. He vaguely acknowledged that it was Sherlock's tail as he pulled off of Sherlock's mouth and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Holy shit!" someone shouted, "Is that a tail?!"

John winced visibly as Sherlock's tail whipped back into its hiding place.

"Don't be absurd!" Sherlock snapped at whoever had called out.

John chuckled into Sherlock's shoulder.

"You always use that word," John commented in a whisper.

"It's my word," Sherlock answered in an equal whisper.

There was a pause and someone cleared their throat loudly.

"Well, come up here and claim your prize!" the announcer called out.

Sherlock led John to the stage and the rest was pretty much a blur. John remembered chuckling a lot and pressing his face into Sherlock a lot. He was pressed against Sherlock's side the rest of the night. This time it seemed that he was the cat.

* * *

**Little note: Describing swing dancing is really fucking hard! X.x Hope it worked out...love you all!**


	12. Chapter 12

"John," Sherlock breathed.

"Sherlock," John whispered back.

"You're going to have let go of me now," Sherlock said as clearly as he could.

"Oh," John sounded surprised, as though he didn't realize he had a hold of Sherlock.

Sherlock felt John's hands move away from his shoulders. Then he felt John crumple as his balance was lost. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sherlock cursed whoever discovered alcohol as he struggled to pull John back up on his feet. John wobbled and giggled, laying his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock began to wonder why he'd suggested John take advantage of the free drink prize they'd received for winning the competition. They'd miraculously made it up the first set of stairs, but now Sherlock was struggling to keep John upright as he stared up John's stairs in despair.

Then he felt something hot and wet on his neck. He hissed fiercely at John as the other man kissed at his neck. Sherlock was thoroughly confused; He thought he was supposed to not have sex with John? Why was John kissing his neck if he wanted him to court him before they had sex? Kissing on the neck was always a sexual thing, wasn't it?

"What are you doing?!" Sherlock snapped in a hiss.

John giggled and swayed slightly, his hands beginning to wander. Sherlock frowned. John must be one of those people that got disgustingly horny when they were intoxicated.

"John, stop!" Sherlock hissed.

"No," John growled.

Then John was pushing roughly and sloppily against him. Sherlock felt his heart rate jump at least 15 beats as John grounded against his leg. _Yes, yes, this is good, _Sherlock's thought dazedly, _good, good, good. _He pressed his hands against John back, trying to press him closer. _Wait, wait, wait…this isn't right, no, no, this is wrong, _Sherlock thought, shaking his head and pushing John away. John swayed backwards and frowned before pressing back to Sherlock, who hissed viciously.

"No. No. No!" Sherlock shouted, pressing John backwards into the wall, "No! This isn't right! Why isn't this right?!"

He slammed John against the wall, causing John to gasp loudly. He squeezed John's wrists as he held John's hands above his head and against the wall. John's eyes were brimmed with tears from the bump of his head. He whimpered up at Sherlock, his blue eyes wide with some sort of emotion that Sherlock couldn't read. Sherlock pressed his hips against John's, testing. John let out an obscene noise and wobbled. Sherlock let out a frustrated noise: it still wasn't right. Something stopped him. Something stopped this from being right.

"Why isn't this right?!" Sherlock yelled at John.

John looked up, his face twisting and some of the tears falling over. Sherlock glared hard at John.

"I want you," Sherlock said angrily, "So why is this not right?"

John blinked dazedly, the rest of the tears leaking out of his eyes. His body started shaking in Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock leaned down and stared hard into John's eyes. _Why isn't this right? Why isn't this right? Why isn't this right? _He chanted in his mind. He looked deep into John's eyes and saw what he was looking for: John's eyes weren't entirely focused. John wasn't entirely with it. John wasn't entirely there. This wasn't John. It was a slight shadow of John.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and released John. The other man fell limply against him, his face pressing to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock pressed a hand into John's hair and stroked his hand through the soft sandy locks silently. John whimpered against him.

"Sh-Sherlock…I have to tell y-you something," John's voice came out desperate.

"Not now," Sherlock whispered firmly.

"B-but Sh-Sherlock I…I re-really-," John sputtered tearfully.

"Not. Now. For now, shut your mouth," Sherlock said a bit more firmly.

John whimpered again and buried his head back into Sherlock's chest.

"I think we should go to sleep now, John," Sherlock said calmly.

John nodded against Sherlock's chest and Sherlock started dragging him towards his own room rather than brave the stairs to John's room. He pulled the other man into his room and they fell ungracefully onto the bed. Sherlock managed to kick their shoes off and throw them off the bed. Sherlock frowned as he watched John sleep. The man had almost instantly fallen asleep. As Sherlock watched the man his face cleared of the confusing frown and tilted up into a light smile.

Now this was John.

* * *

As John regained consciousness he tightened his hold around whatever it was he had a hold of. It turned out to be a body. John opened one eye slightly and peeked at the warm body pressed against him. It was Sherlock (who else would it be?). John panicked for a brief moment until he noted that they were both dressed except for their shoes. John relaxed significantly, shifting his bad shoulder. He winced a little and that was all it took.

Sherlock suddenly shot up and over, pinning John beneath him. His hands pressed against John's neck before he processed who it was that was in his bed. John stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Sherlock's hands whipped back as he realized it was John.

"Sorry," he muttered, "Not used to people in my bed."

John frowned slightly. Then he felt a rolling in his stomach and threw Sherlock off of him. He ran to the bathroom and promptly spewed chunks into the toilet. He groaned loudly as his head began to pound. Usually, if he went slowly in the morning, he could reduce the headache, but since he'd jumped and ran, everything was too fast for his brain to stay calm. He laid his head on the toilet seat, not really caring that asses had been on it before (after all, it had only been his and Sherlock's, so what was the difference?). He squeezed his eyes closed against the headache.

"John, are you…are you alright?" came a timid voice from the doorway.

John opened one eye just a crack to see a shy looking Sherlock hiding behind the door. Sherlock had taken off his coat (_how the hell did he sleep in that thing anyway?), _revealing the purple shirt of sex. John smiled slightly at the adorably shy vibes that Sherlock was giving off. He supposed it had something to do with his cattiness, but it was still the cutest thing he'd seen in a while. John began to wonder if that's how Sherlock looked when he had sex: all shy and adorable. John groaned as arousal was added to his list of pains.

"John?" the timid voice again.

John smiled.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

He lifted himself off the floor and flushed the toilet. He quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. Sherlock stood behind the door, peeking at him the entire time. John found it incredibly adorable. He rooted around in the cabinet and found some aspirin. As he went to the kitchen for water, Sherlock followed behind him like a…well, like a cat. He watched John take the aspirin from the entrance of the kitchen and then followed him into the living room. John sat in his chair and rubbed at his eyes as Sherlock hovered next to him.

"Are you going to follow me around all day?" John asked tiredly.

Sherlock made a meowing sound and dropped to the floor at his feet. John looked down at him in alarm, but saw that he'd just decided to sit down. Sherlock looked up at John hesitantly, his ears twitching nervously. John raised an eyebrow at him.

"Did you…like our date?" Sherlock asked, looking away sheepishly.

_God, so adorable! _John thought, practically drooling all over himself.

"Yes, I did," John answered finally.

Sherlock's head snapped up and he grinned widely, his tail suddenly dancing around behind him. Then he put his mask back on and looked back away.

"That's good," he said in an indifferent tone.

John grinned, knowing that Sherlock was not indifferent: his tail was still dancing like mad behind him.

* * *

**Little note: I know! It took forever! T.T But here you are! I hope you liked it! Adorable cat Sherlock being adorable! Yay! Love you all!**


	13. Chapter 13

_I have four legs, but I do not breathe,_

_ Check me on the underneath._

John stared in confusion at the note in his hands. It was a tiny square piece of paper that Sherlock had placed in his hands before grinning wickedly and disappearing out of the flat. John squinted at the words. _Is this a riddle? That's a table, right? _John thought sluggishly. He shuffled into the kitchen and peeked under the table. Nothing was there. He frowned slightly. He knelt and stuck his head under the table to look at the table itself. In the middle was a small note, similar to the one he'd already been given. He pulled it off gently and stood back up to read it.

_A million things that could be said,_

_ A million times I've lost my head,_

_ A million times that you have paid,_

_ And a million times that you have stayed. _

_ John,_

_It would be my greatest pleasure,_

_ To see you across from me,_

John sucked in a gasping breath.

_At dinner tomorrow evening. _

_ 8 o'clock sharp once again. _

_ Dress nice._

_ -Sherlock Holmes_

John clutched at his heart.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

"Not exactly what I was looking for…" came a stoic voice from the doorway.

John jumped, almost losing his grip on the precious notes in his hands.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John exclaimed, "You startled me! I thought you'd gone somewhere."

"I estimated the amount of time it would take you to solve the riddle and read the note. I wished to see your reaction and have your answer. But I didn't want to bother you in your quest to find the note. At first I had a series of notes and clues. However, after twenty-eight I thought that perhaps it wasn't the best idea."

Sherlock's face was cool and impassive, but John could tell it meant a lot to him.

"Well, I say yes," John said calmly, smiling lightly.

Sherlock smiled lightly back at him. John chuckled slightly.

"Though, I have to admit," He laughed, "When you said "Across from me" I almost thought you were asking me to marry you. Almost had a heart attack."

He smiled, still chuckling, up at Sherlock, but when he saw the man's face it died off. The man looked partially confused and partially something that John couldn't read.

"Er, you ok there?" John asked hesitantly.

"Fine, John," Sherlock said softly.

With that he turned on his heel and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. John looked down at the notes clutched tightly in his hands. He couldn't help but wonder why Sherlock was trying to be so romantic and why a comment about marriage would upset him. He sighed loudly; why did he even try to understand that man?

* * *

"John."

"Sherlock."

John suppressed a giggle as he looked at Sherlock who was looking rather serious and formal in his suit, framed by the open doorway and the night sky. Sherlock frowned at him as though he knew that he was suppressing a girlish giggle. He pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal that he was holding a gift. John immediately focused his attention on the package. It was wrapped in silver paper with black string. It was roughly the size of a book. John briefly wondered if it was a book.

Sherlock held it out to him and he gingerly took it, running his fingers over the wrapping before gently tearing into it. He found that it was indeed a book. It was hard cover with no title. It was plain black except for a pink bow on the front cover. John couldn't help but feel like the color was familiar. He flipped the front cover open and then lifted the very first page that was plain black like the cover. The next page which was normally dedicated to the title had two simple words printed in the center:

_For John_

John glanced up at Sherlock curiously before returning to the book and flipping the next page. He gasped in shock as he found himself eye to eye with a mirror. He blinked and leaned forward, squinting. The mirror didn't lean forward and squint at him. He frowned, but the mirror didn't. He looked up at Sherlock with a "Wtf?" look and Sherlock smirked slightly. He looked back down at the book.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "It's a picture! Ok. Freaked me out a bit when the mirror didn't move."

He laughed nervously and leaned in for a better look. It was a close up of his face. He looked serious and sad. John recognized the background as St. Bart's. This was the room Sherlock was in most of the time. When could this picture of been taken? Sherlock never took photos that John knew of. John searched the picture for some clue as to when it was taken. He placed his fingertips on the photo and gasped again.

"This isn't a picture!" John cried, "I mean-well, it's-it's not a _photo! _Sherlock! This is amazing! Who drew this?!"

"I did, obviously," Sherlock scoffed.

John gaped at him.

"You drew this, Sherlock?!" John squealed (yes, squealed), "You're so amazing! You're so bloody brilliant, Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked confused.

"Artistic talent makes me brilliant?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, you crazy git!" John laughed, "I thought this was a _photo _Sherlock! It's a drawing, too! That's crazy! A painting I could see, but a drawing! Jesus! This is…it's amazing!"

Sherlock still looked rather confused, but he smiled anyway.

"I don't know when this is though…" John said, scowling, "It feels familiar, but I can't quite grasp it."

He sighed heavily and turned the page. The next page had a black and white sketch of a hand holding out a phone. John recognized it as his phone and then he realized it was _his_ hand. This must be one of the many times that Sherlock requested he give his phone to him for some unknown reason. He flipped the page again and there was a full body sketch of John holding his cane and looking straight forward at presumably Sherlock. The next drawing was of John's body from the waist up. He had a polite smile and his hand was extended, grasping another hand. Then was a drawing of John crouched looking up with wonder clear on his face.

The next was a drawing of John smiling, framed by the large window at the front of Angelo's, his head leaning down. Then there was one of him running, a concentrated, determined look on his face. This one seemed more hastily drawn with slightly fewer details, not that it was any less amazing. The next was a view of John almost from above, as though Sherlock had snapped a photo with his eyes. John's eyes were bright and he was grinning, laughing. The next one was John's head and shoulders, a surprised and disbelieving look shining brightly on his face.

There were several more, ending with a profile drawing of John, looking slightly serious, but with a happy twinkle in his eye and his lips were slightly turned up. There was no background in this one; just the plain white of the paper it was drawn on. John's fingertips came to rest on the white space next to the drawing of himself.

"Sherlock," John whispered, "This is…"

But he couldn't finish, because he had no words left.


	14. Chapter 14

"It's our first case," Sherlock said in a disinterested tone.

"Oh, Sherlock," John said tearfully, "It's so much more than that."

He was so overcome he quite suddenly leapt forward and threw his arms around Sherlock.

"Sherlock, thank you so much," John whispered thickly.

Sherlock stood frozen for a moment before he stiffly wrapped his arms around John and pressed his cheek to the side of John's head.

"You are welcome," Sherlock answered quietly.

John squeezed Sherlock harder and then let go of him, rubbing at his tearing eyes.

"Sorry, Jesus," John laughed, "It's just, I sometimes wonder if you even remember stuff like this."

"I have a photographic memory," Sherlock droned.

John rolled his eyes.

"I meant, sometimes I wonder if you _care _to remember," John clarified, "Sometimes I wonder if you just delete all that unnecessary sentimental stuff."

"I have never deleted anything involving you," Sherlock stated.

John looked up at Sherlock in shock.

"Really?" John asked in wonder.

Sherlock looked confused for a moment.

"Why would I?" Sherlock questioned.

"I just didn't think I was that important to you," John admitted, looking at the floor, "I thought you would use that mind space for more important things like tobacco ash…"

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock scoffed, "You are much more important than tobacco ash. In fact, if I categorized the things and people in my life and mind in order of importance, you would be on the top of the list."

And that did it. John started crying like a little girl. Sherlock awkward put his arms around him and John cried into Sherlock's chest.

"Why don't you say these things all the time?" John lamented.

"Because I am uncomfortable with sounding so sentimental," Sherlock answered.

"Well, a hint now and then that you care would be nice," John sniffed.

"My hints are apparently too subtle for you to notice," Sherlock said coolly.

"Well, you did wash the dishes yesterday," John admitted.

He peeked up at Sherlock to see the other man smirking proudly. John giggled and pushed away from Sherlock's thin chest.

"Anyway, I think we better get going," John said, sniffling slightly.

"Yes, right, let's move along," Sherlock said briskly.

He turned around and looked around for a moment before grabbing John's hand and pulling him out of the door. John pulled it shut behind him as he stumbled, trying to keep up with Sherlock. Sherlock opened the door to a black car that was similar to the one they'd taken on their first date. He practically shoved John into it (and by practically, I mean he did), causing John to land half on the seat and half on the floor. Sherlock slid in, graceful as ever, and quickly slammed the door shut.

"Move it, driver," he growled towards the front seat.

"Eager are we?" John said teasingly from his position on the floor (he went ahead and slid the rest of the way down seeing as he already lost his dignity years ago).

Sherlock hissed in response and pulled John onto the seat. John was about to say thank you, but Sherlock cut him off by rubbing his face against the smaller man's chest. His hat was slightly askew now as he eagerly put his hands up on John's leg. John giggled a bit as Sherlock started rubbing his shoulder and side against him, much like Atlas used to or any cat does for that matter.

"Pet me already, dammit," Sherlock groaned, "Usually you're quicker than this!"

"Ok, ok," John laughed, "Don't get ya panties in a bunch!"

He slipped off Sherlock's hat and scratched the man between the ears. Sherlock began purring steadily, but didn't stop rubbing against John.

"What's with this all of a sudden?" John questioned, running his hand down Sherlock's back.

"Don't know," Sherlock said, his voice vibrating with purrs, "Just need it."

"You're such a silly kitty," John said, giggling as he said it.

Sherlock threw him a glare.

"I'm not a cat, Joh-OH!" Sherlock was interrupted by John's hand rubbing the special place, "Yesss. Ahh. That's good."

John grinned at his victory as Sherlock relaxed into him, allowing himself to be petted thoroughly. John was rather happy about the whole thing. It'd been a couple weeks since Sherlock had allowed John to pet him. John liked this side of Sherlock. The side no one else saw that was purely Sherlock. It was nothing more or less than Sherlock letting himself go for just a little while at a time. John absolutely adored it. He'd be lying if he said he'd rather go on the actual date than sit there and pet Sherlock.

"We're here, Mister Holmes," a cold voice droned from the front.

Sherlock bolted upright and scrabbled to shove the hat back onto his head. John thought it was rather cute how frantic he looked for a moment. However, as Sherlock left the car, he had all the poise and grace that he normally did. John snickered a bit before sliding out of the car behind him. Sherlock strode towards a fancy looking restaurant that made John hope that Sherlock was covering the bill. Sherlock stepped forward and batted away the man at the door, opening it himself and bowing low. John blushed slightly as he stepped into the restaurant.

He stared around in wonder at the rich red and gold décor. He gazed up at the extravagant chandelier. The little lights dripped from the golden metal in waves. It was the type of thing you only saw in movies (or Buckingham Palace if you were Sherlock and John). John gaped at the place, unsure if he'd died or if he'd just walked into the wrong place.

"Close your mouth, John," Sherlock said in an amused tone, from behind his shorter friend.

"I think you like when my mouth's open," John said, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder.

Sherlock leaned down, his lips mere centimeters from John's ear.

"I think I'd like if your mouth was open and _full."_

The whispered words made John shiver and gasp slightly.

"F-f-full?" John questioned in a strained voice.

"Full of my hot, throbbing-."

"Hello, sirs, what's the name?" a voice interrupted.

Sherlock straightened up and John breathed out a huge puff of air.

"Holmes-Watson," Sherlock said briskly.

John looked at Sherlock in surprise as the man searched the list for them.

"Ah, here you are!" he said, "Just follow me, sirs."

Sherlock followed the man and John followed Sherlock. They ended up in a booth in a more private section of the restaurant. The man handed them their menus and walked away quickly. John opened his, but stared at Sherlock instead. Sherlock looked at his own menu for approximately 1.23 minutes before looking up at John and raising an eyebrow.

"What is the matter, John?" Sherlock asked.

"You said Holmes-Watson;" John said quietly, "Like it's hyphenated. Like we're…like we're married."

Sherlock's eyebrows came together.

"I merely wanted to be sure to include you," Sherlock explained, "Usually, the reservation is in the man's name, but since you are also a man, I thought perhaps you wanted to also be on the reservation. I was afraid I would hurt your pride if I did not. I noticed you don't really feel comfortable with being the "woman" in this relationship."

John blushed slightly.

"Oh," he muttered, "There I go again with the marriage inferences."

He laughed nervously and looked at his menu, but not before he saw the slightly frustrated look on Sherlock's face. John quickly picked something that was good, but not too expensive. The waiter came back around with a two glasses and a bottle of wine. He told them the name of it, but John didn't know what it was or what it meant. He merely grabbed his glass when it was full and drank down half of it. He needed some alcoholic confidence if he was going to make it through the night.

"John, do you smell something?" Sherlock said suddenly, his glass pausing halfway to his mouth.

John sniffed the air and froze, his eyes widening.

"No," he stated, "Absolutely not."

Sherlock cast him a half irritated, half confused look before he looked around for the source of the smell. John winced as Sherlock's eyes seemed to land on the culprit. John felt like crying. _Why? Why can't I just have a nice date for once? _He thought miserably. He heard a crashing noise and looked around to see the smoke billowing from the recently opened kitchen doors. Some of waiters were starting to usher people out of the building. Their own was making a beeline for them. John scowled.

"So you did smell the smoke, then?" Sherlock questioned.

He looked up to see that Sherlock was now standing over him, leaning towards him in a protective way.

"Yes," John muttered, sliding out of his seat.

Sherlock immediately grabbed his arm above his elbow and started dragging him towards the door. John tried to twist out of Sherlock's grip, but the man's hand held on with an insistence that made John sure he would have a bruise.

"Sherlock!" he whined, "I can walk by myself!"

Sherlock ignored him as he continued tugging him to the exit. John felt the smoke hit his nose and mouth full force and he gagged, his eyes watering. The fire had seemed to escalate quite quickly, as now the smoke was eagerly filling the room with its dark presence. Sherlock hurried through the doors with John in tow, nearly knocking the other guests over. He pulled John across the street before he stopped. John was gasping grateful breaths of fresh air as Sherlock looked down at him in concern.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

John rubbed at his eyes.

"No, just the smoke," John assured him, though it was only a half truth, "You can let go of me now."

"You're in distress," Sherlock stated, his grip not wavering.

John rolled his eyes and yanked his arm out of Sherlock's hand.

"Like you would understand," he said bitingly, "Let's just go home."

Sherlock looked pained for a moment before turning to find a cab.


	15. Chapter 15

John hefted a sigh as he pulled his mug from the cabinet. He saw Sherlock inch forward out of the corner of his eye.

"You are upset," Sherlock said calmly.

"Ya think?" John snapped at him.

He gripped the counter in an effort to steady himself. Sherlock took a few more cautious steps forward. He gently touched his hand to John's shoulder. John sighed loudly again and turned his head to look at Sherlock. Sherlock's face was contorted in pain and confusion.

"What is causing you to be upset?" Sherlock questioned, his hand pressing urgently into John's shoulder.

"I love you!" John shouted, "That's what's making me so upset! I _love _you and you don't get it. Nor do you care! All you care about is experiments and solving crimes and pissing people off! Why did I even agree to let you do this? You don't care! It's ripping me up inside because all I know is you anymore. I don't even _look_ at women Sherlock! I think is "Sherlock won't like that", "Sherlock wants milk" "I hope Sherlock plays the violin tonight" "Sherlock's going to need me to be up early for the case" "I hope Sherlock eats". Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock! It never ends! If it's not your well-being, it's how beautiful or incredibly smart you are! I dream about you, I accidently say your name when I'm talking to people. It's only you and that will probably last the rest of my life and all you care about is how long it will take for me to…do what I've wanted to do for a very, very long time.

"You don't care about me in any way that could really benefit me, besides that you need me to cover your arse. All you do is use and use and use and then when I get upset you get that look on your face like you had no idea that I _could _get upset. When the restaurant set on fire all I could think was "Are we going to have to stay because Sherlock thinks it's arson?" and I wondered why the hell I couldn't just have a nice little date with the man that I love. And I know why…because my love will never be powerful enough to stop all this craziness that our life is, even for an hour just so we can have a date. Because I'm not enough.

"You'll always need something to occupy your mind with and I'm not enough to occupy that wonderful brain of yours. Not even for an hour. Not even for five minutes, because I'm me and I'm nothing and you're you and you're wonderful and fast-paced and brilliant and I can hardly keep up. All I get is those moments when you slow down enough to see if I've still got your back or we've just finished a case and the adrenaline is coursing through you and you can just stop for two seconds.

"I'm just so confused. I don't understand why you're torturing me like this! You act like you might care for me more than just as friends, but the way you started this thing…I don't understand. I will never understand how you can just remove yourself and feel nothing! Because I feel everything! The only thing this stupid dating thing has done is made me even more worried that I will lose you or become even more like some dog that trails after you and does whatever you say no matter what happens. I just don't know…I'm just so…I can't take this!"

John dissolved into sobs, unable to control his spinning mind and overflowing emotions. Sherlock wrapped him in a bear hug and crushed him to his chest.

"It's-it's ok…" Sherlock said urgently, "I-I…it's ok…er, please, god, John, please stop! I don't know…I can't…I love you too!"

John jerked violently out of Sherlock's arms. He glared hard at Sherlock. Before he could fully react his fist reared back and slammed into Sherlock's porcelain face.

"Don't fucking lie to me!" John spat at the stunned man, wobbling before him, "You can't just say those words to calm me down!"

Tears burned angrily down his face as Sherlock trembled in front of him. Sherlock lowered his hand from his cheek and John's anger immediately dropped. Sherlock's face was already swelling slight and there was a clear fist print in a vivid red on his jaw. John could already tell how badly it was going bruise. He could practically see the mottled way Sherlock's face would look with the nasty yellow and purple bruise.

"Oh my god! Sherlock!" John cried, lurching forward, "I'm so sorry! Oh god, your face! You're beautiful face! Oh my god! It's awful!"

John staggered around Sherlock and flung open the freezer, quickly locating a frozen back of peas. He rushed forward, grabbing the hand towel on his way and wrapped the peas up. Fresh tears sprang into his eyes as he gingerly pressed the makeshift icepack to Sherlock's face. Sherlock stared at him intensely as tears streamed down his face and he adjusted the ice pack. A cool hand covered his that was holding the peas. He looked up at Sherlock who shook his head, looking confused.

"I don't understand," Sherlock stated simply.

John blinked heavily, trying to clear the tears from his eyes.

"You want to date me," Sherlock said, hesitantly, "But you do not want to under the circumstances that I placed it. You love me, but you do not like to hear me say that I love you. You are angry enough to hit me, but you still care for my injury. I do not understand you at all. You are very contradictory."

John swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away.

"It's just that…" he paused, searching for words, "I don't want to date you just because you want to have sex. And I don't want you to say you love me unless you mean it. And I will always care for your injuries no matter how pissed off I am. I'm your doctor."

Sherlock's face scrunched for a moment and then it cleared.

"Oh, I see," Sherlock said, his whole body visibly relaxing, "That makes so much more sense."

"Glad to hear it," John said, moving the peas to peek at the fist-sized redness on Sherlock's jaw.

"I should tell you something, John," Sherlock said, his voice hesitant again.

John looked back up to Sherlock's eyes, which were filled with anxiety.

"Please come and sit in the living room with me," Sherlock said quietly, gently taking the frozen peas from John.

John frowned as Sherlock turned and swept into the other room. He followed tentatively behind and settled on his chair across from Sherlock. The hand that was holding the packet of peas lowered to his lap and he fidgeted with it nervously. John watched Sherlock carefully as the other man stared at his lap. Then he gave a frustrated meow and ripped his hat from his head, flinging it across the room.

"Better," Sherlock sighed, his cat ears twitching about a bit.

"What did you need to tell me?" John questioned.

"John," Sherlock started, raising his eyes to lock them onto John's, "When I started asking you on dates, I wanted it to be an experiment, as you are probably aware. You are probably unaware as to what the experiment was actually to test. You most likely believe that I wanted to do this purely to have sexual intercourse with you."

He paused and looked back to his lap, sighing slightly. His head snapped up sharply and he scowled.

"Well, that isn't true."

* * *

**Little note: I'm trying guys. Sorry. I know it's taking forever. I'm just a bit depressed at the moment. Anyway, I hope this chapter was good. Thank you all for your favorites, follows, and reviews!**


	16. Chapter 16

"So then what?" John finally asked after at least five minutes of silence.

Sherlock's eyes flinted about briefly before they locked with John's.

"I wanted to see if you loved me," Sherlock whispered, "My hypothesis was correct. I had observed heightened heart rate and dilated pupils. Though I couldn't be sure if it was merely sexual attraction or love. You confirmed it for me with your outburst."

John blushed slightly. Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hands in his classic thinking pose.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" John questioned anxiously.

"No," Sherlock answered, his eyes looking everywhere but John, "I share the same feelings that you do. Since this incident, with the cat DNA, my chemicals have gone haywire. It has been madness, trying to sort through all these _feelings_. But I noticed one thing that didn't change when I received the cat parts: a need to be with you. I feel myself drawn towards you, as though I am nothing without you. And considering the things I succumbed to before I met you…The point is: I cannot see myself without you and I don't want to be without you. I love you, John."

John's eyes were wide as he stared unblinkingly at Sherlock, who was still not looking at John. Finally, after several silent minutes, Sherlock looked sharply at John, his face wrinkled in frustration.

"Now, can we stop this nonsense?" Sherlock growled, "I am quite tired of sentiment and I wish to pursue other activities."

John blinked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock let out a snort and leapt off the chair. John jumped slightly as Sherlock strode quickly forward. The frozen bag of peas fell on the ground and John found himself looking at it for no particular reason. Sherlock dropped his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned close to John's face.

"You are either incredible slow or you just refuse to see what is front of your face," Sherlock breathed out in a hissy voice, "Keep up, John."

John swallowed and slowly lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock's breath puffed against John's mouth, sliding over the skin at the corners of his fleshy, pink lips. John shivered, allowing his eyes to flick down to Sherlock's pale lips before locking eyes with Sherlock once again.

"Waiting, John," Sherlock snapped impatiently, the words vibrating over John's mouth, "I will not stand here forever."

"Wha-what?" John sputtered in confusion.

Sherlock snorted once again.

"Lestrade told me…" he trailed off for moment, "He told me to let you take the lead. So hurry the hell up."

John smirked widely.

"So if I just sit here," John whispered huskily, "You won't do anything? You'll just wait for me?"

Sherlock let out an angry hiss.

"I'll leave," he threatened in a low voice, though his body made no move to leave.

"Oh really?" John purred.

Sherlock frowned, his eyes cool and calculating as though he was trying to deduce just how far John was going to take it. John smirked, suddenly giddy with his new-found power. He lifted off the chair slightly, coming close, but so far away from brushing his lips against Sherlock's. He pushed his jacket from his shoulders, shoving it down to the chair. Sherlock scowled at him in confusion.

Next, John wiggled out of his jumper, carefully maneuvering around Sherlock, who had stiffened and was watching John very closely. John clumsily unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his arms. He shuddered slightly against the sudden cool air on his skin. He fumbled with his belt buckle and quickly undid his jeans, pushing it down off of his hips. He kicked his shoes off and shimmied out of his jeans. Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's bare body. They lingered around the soft bulge in John's blue, plaid pants. John took a deep breath and decided in for a penny in for a pound.

John slid his hand over his thigh and pressed against the bulge. It hardened rapidly in response. Sherlock made a possessive hissing noise as he watched John with sharp eyes. John's heart rate skyrocketed as he stared into Sherlock's face, pressing against himself. Sherlock made a frustrated meow and suddenly grabbed a fistful of the only thing he could get a grip: John's hair. John hissed in response, but allowed himself to be pulled up and dragged into Sherlock's room.

The pain shot through his scalp as Sherlock threw him into the room. He tumbled and fell over as Sherlock slammed the door shut. He struggled upright as Sherlock started shedding his own clothes. John paused and enjoyed the show from the floor. After Sherlock managed to strip down to his pants he leapt forward and yanked John up by his wrists. He quickly shoved John onto the bed and clambered on top of him.

"Bit rough, Sherlock," John commented breathlessly.

"You like it," Sherlock snapped back at him, "Now shut your mouth before I fuck it."

John shuddered uncontrollably at the sudden gruffness of Sherlock's voice and demeanor. He jerked as Sherlock's tongue licked up his neck. It was rough, hot and wet and it made a trail from his collar bone to his ear. Sherlock pressed his hips hard against John's as his tail wrapped around John's wrist. John groaned and jerked his hips up to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock's chest rumbled in a loud meowing noise as his fingers tugged on John's pants.

"Wait, wait!" John sputtered, "Wait!"

Sherlock ignored John's protesting and quickly yanked away the thin blue fabric.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Wait!" John shouted.

Sherlock's head snapped up and he hissed, baring his teeth at John.

"What?!" Sherlock spat, "Speak quickly!"

"G-god, c-can y-you j-just st-stop for a se-second?" John mumbled shakily.

Sherlock let out a hefty, frustrated sigh and leaned over John, placing his hands on either side of John's head.

"What is the problem?" Sherlock questioned impatiently.

"I just…Sherlock…" John trailed off, crossing his legs unconsciously, "I just want to properly kiss you."

He tinged pink as the words left his mouth and crossed his arms.

"Then just do it," Sherlock answered.

John slowly, sheepishly turned his head to look at Sherlock. Sherlock still looked rather frustrated, but with a softer edge to it. John hesitantly unraveled his arms and brought his hands up to cradle Sherlock's face. Sherlock leaned down to meet him halfway and tilted his head slightly. The taller man's eyelids fluttered closed as he waited rather patiently for John to press their lips together. John took a steading breath and lifted off the bed, finally pressing his own lips to Sherlock's.

And finally, they were complete. Finally, they were what they were meant to be. Finally, Holmes and Watson, Sherlock and John became one, as it was written in the stars for them to be. Finally, two halves of the same soul clicked together. Finally, John could think clearly again. Finally, Sherlock's heart could beat properly again. Finally, finally, their lips danced together in that dimly lit room and it was all as it should be.

* * *

**Little note: That's the end, my dears. I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. It originally was just supposed to be a silly fic about Sherlock being a kitty cat, but as you can see it became a mite more than that. Anyway, I hope it turned out alright! Thank you all for sticking with me! Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! **


	17. Epilogue

**Little note: Hi! I bet you weren't expecting this, huh? ^_^ Well, some of you expressed dissatisfaction with the ending, so here's an epilogue for you! I'm hoping this will help! **

* * *

Greg tapped his fingers on the plain, white mug. He was getting rather impatient. Neither Sherlock nor his brother had showed up yet, which left Greg sitting on his own in the little café. He was beginning to wonder why he'd agreed to this in the first place when he looked up to see a man standing by the door. The man held an umbrella in one hand and seemed to be searching the room. His eyes locked with Greg's who realized that the man must be Mycroft. He was rather surprised by the man, he was handsome, in a cold, professional way, but he looked nothing like Sherlock!

Greg jumped up to greet the man, knocking his knee on the underside of the table as he did so. He winced as his mug went flying off the table. He dove for it and missed, sending himself and the mug crashing to the floor. He laid face-down for a few moments feeling utterly embarrassed, before he hailed himself up and began trying to clean the mess he'd made. As he yanked napkins from the holder, it too fell to the floor, making Greg turn a horrible shade of scarlet.

He mopped up the mess the best he could as a waitress arrived to sweep up the shattered mug. Greg sighed and turned, starting to stand. Instead, he whacked his head soundly on the table, sending him reeling dizzily for several moments. If he wasn't so used to feeling embarrassed around a Holmes, he might have just cried. He finally got to his feet to find Mycroft standing near the table, with an eyebrow raised at him.

"Just clumsy today, I guess," Greg muttered, "Was nervous to meet you. I'm Greg Lestrade."

He held his hand out which Mycroft observed carefully before taking it.

"Mycroft Holmes," the man said in an artic voice.

Greg shivered slightly, feeling as though the voice had breezed over him. He cleared his throat loudly and slid back into his chair. Mycroft took the seat opposite him and stared. Greg knew that it had to be a Holmes thing, because he didn't even flinch as the man stared at him. Instead, he stared back as he always did with Sherlock. He man's cold face moved, forming the tiniest of smiles, as though he was pleased with Greg. Greg was glad and almost sighed with relief.

"Still waiting for my brother, Detective?" Mycroft questioned.

"Er, yeah," Greg answered, "He still hasn't showed. And it's Greg. Call me Greg."

"He isn't coming, _Greg," _Mycroft replied, emphasizing the name with a slight sneer.

Greg was thoroughly confused. Sherlock had set the whole thing up, why wouldn't he come?

"This is Sherlock's way of being funny," Mycroft said in explanation, "He set us up on a blind date."

Greg blinked owlishly at the man before he laughed.

"I think you're mistaken," he said, grinning widely, "I highly doubt Sherlock would look at me and think "Oh yes, he'll be good with my sophisticated and intelligent older brother." Seriously, that's hilarious."

Mycroft frowned at him briefly before his face became a cool, unemotional mask.

"I should be going then," Mycroft said briskly.

"You don't have to," Greg said, almost pleadingly, "I mean; it doesn't hurt to talk, does it?"

He smiled encouragingly and Mycroft answered with a smaller smile.

"So what do you do?" Greg asked, "When I asked Sherlock he said you were the British government. I don't think the man knows how to answer a question seriously."

"I hold a minor position in the British government," Mycroft recited.

Even Greg could tell it was a rehearsed line.

"Well, how's that?" Greg questioned, "Government work must be nice. Desk job, no running around. Sounds good."

"Ah, yes, incredibly wonderful," Mycroft retorted sarcastically.

"Let me guess," Greg said, a little grin playing at his lips, "It's _boring._"

Mycroft looked slightly surprised.

"Yes, terribly so," Mycroft replied, looking a bit pleased that Greg guessed it.

"Well, at least you're not getting hurt," Greg supplied hopefully.

Mycroft's lips turned up in a ruthless smile.

"Sometimes getting hurt is fun," he laughed, "That's what Sherlock told me once when we were children."

Greg tried to picture Sherlock and Mycroft as children and only came up with tiny grotesque beings with the brothers' adult faces.

"Detective Inspector would y-," Mycroft began.

"Greg," the other man interrupted, "Please."

Mycroft gave him a little smile before continuing to speak.

"Gregory, would you like to come home with me?" Mycroft propositioned coolly.

Greg sputtered for several moments, turning a deep tomato red color. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, waiting for the answer. Greg saw clear, logical reasons why to deny the offer. However, when he opened his mouth to reject the Mycroft all that came out was:

"Yes."

Mycroft gave him a smirk before standing to leave. Greg felt like banging his head against something. Again. Why had he even said yes? It was clearly some Holmes magic that made Greg want to obey their wishes. He frowned slightly. Not that he would ever say yes to Sherlock if he asked him such a thing….would he?

* * *

"They're leaving together," John said excitedly, "It worked!"

Sherlock walked over to peek out the window. He grinned in success as Lestrade slid into the car after Mycroft.

"I knew it would happen," he said proudly.

John rolled his eyes at the egotistical detective.

"Now, shall we adjourn to other, more pleasurable activities?" Sherlock suggested, a huge smirk plastered on his face.

John blushed slightly, still not quite used to Sherlock's random propositioning. It always embarrassed John when Sherlock's baritone voice would ask him if he would like to do anything sexual, but he was grateful for Sherlock's consideration. _At least he doesn't attack me in the shower, _he mused.

"I would never do something so appalling," Sherlock piped up.

"I'm sorry, did I say that out loud?" John said.

"No, but you're thinking rather loudly," Sherlock answered.

John frowned at him.

"How did-Oh never mind!" he said in an exasperated tone, "Let's go to those more pleasurable activities you were talking about."

Sherlock gave him a Cheshire cat smile and quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the bedroom. _Never dull, _John happily reminded himself.

* * *

**Little note: Hope this was satisfying! ^_^ Thanks for the reviews and all the love! You guys rock!**


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